Escape or Illusion.

Sasha ran, her legs trembling, breath shallow and labored. She couldn’t stop. The man’s voice coiled in her mind like a snake, mocking her: “Where will you go? You’ll be back" his words seared into her, his belittling gaze haunting her every step.

With bare feet, but she pressed on. No shoes, no purse, her phone on the brink of death—none of it mattered. Escape was the only goal, the only thought.

Years of silent tears, the bruises hidden beneath long sleeves, the overwhelming terror of never being enough—all of it had led her here. The night air clawed at her skin as she pushed into the unknown.

"Go left" the voice said and she obeyed turning the corner. Her surroundings blurred—South Croydon, dim and foreboding, pressed in on her. The world felt off-kilter, but she ignored it. One step. Another. Trust the voice. Trust its guidance.

Her phone buzzed. Sasha fumbled, but the screen was dead, her battery gone. A wave of despair surged, but the voice soothed her, steady as ever.

“You’re not alone.”

In a moment of distraction, desperation led her to a police station, its sterile fluorescent lights a jarring contrast to the night. She pleaded with the officer at the desk, her voice trembling, her story spilling out in fragments. For a moment, she thought she saw concern flicker across his face. Then, from the back, she overheard another officer murmur, “She’s probably just crazy.”

The words hit her like a slap. She froze, blood draining from her face. Panic seized her. Without a word, she turned and fled, the harsh lights of the station disappearing behind her.
Tears burned her eyes. She wanted to believe it. Hours slipped by, or maybe minutes—time seemed meaningless. The streets morphed into a maze of shadows and unfamiliarity. Exhaustion clawed at her, but something unseen carried her forward, urging her when to run, when to slow.

“Hide,” it commanded.

Her body reacted without thought. She slipped into a narrow alley, pressing herself against the cold, damp wall. A car’s headlights sliced through the darkness. The vehicle slowed. Sasha held her breath. The engine rumbled past, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

“Right,” the voice urged.

She staggered out of the alley, every muscle screaming, every step a monumental effort. Yet she obeyed, compelled by the unseen force guiding her. The cityscape shifted, unfamiliar streets winding tighter around her, her desperation growing. Safety was near—she felt it. Or was it hope, fragile and fleeting?

Then, Bromley Town Centre loomed ahead. Sasha’s legs buckled. She stumbled to the weathered door of the house, pounding weakly. It opened. Jack stood there, his expression flickering between disbelief and something she couldn’t name.

“Sasha…”

Her vision tunneled. She collapsed into his arms, unable to resist the pull of unconsciousness.

She awoke briefly—vague impressions of Jack above her. Her phone in his hand. His fingers typing a single message.

“She’s here.”

Her heart clenched. Jack’s shadow stretched over her, the door clicking shut behind him. Darkness reclaimed her, but not before dread settled, suffocating and cold.