13. Sina
With my head tilted down, I shuffled along my block, shoulders hunched against the bitter wind coming off the bay. My hands were numb, fingers aching like they might snap clean off, my nose burning the way it always did when winter dug in its claws.
Ash Harbor didn’t usually get this cold, which somehow made it worse. Especially since I knew I was going home to a broken heater.
My brain was already fried from a long week and too much alcohol. I told myself it was exhaustion. Too much noise in my head. Still, the feeling lingered. That quiet, crawling sense that I’d missed something important. Too many late nights in a row. Not enough sleep.
The nightmares had come back with a vengeance.
Every time I closed my eyes lately, Keith haunted me.
I shivered again, and this time it wasn’t from the cold.
I slipped my hand into my bra and wrapped my fingers around the handle of the small knife I kept tucked there, the metal cool and familiar against my palm.
Just in case. I hated that “just in case” was still part of my life.
But the blade made me feel a little better.
I quickened my pace. Fog rolled in thick and low, swallowing the streetlights and blurring the edges of everything familiar.
Buildings became shapes. Shadows stretched wrong.
The city felt hollowed out, like I was walking through the inside of something instead of along a sidewalk.
The hairs on my arms prickled beneath my jacket.
Get it together, Sina. You’re tired, buzzed, and overthinking because that’s what you do when things don’t make sense.
Still, my stomach stayed tight.
It’s just your overactive imagination , I told myself, even though my hand never left the knife.
By the time my building finally came into view, I was half jogging, breath puffing white in front of me as I fumbled for my keys, fingers stiff and clumsy.
The old brick structure loomed out of the fog, familiar and unwelcoming all at once.
I reached for the broken front door and yanked the handle open, just as something small and fast darted past my legs.
I screamed, dropping my knife, heart in my throat.
I spun around, pulse slamming as the door banged shut behind me.
The hallway was dark, lit only by the weak yellow glow of a flickering overhead bulb near the stairwell.
Shadows stretched too long along the walls, my imagination already spiraling into worst-case scenarios I didn’t have the energy to survive tonight.
The hallway stayed silent. No doors opened.
No footsteps checking if I was okay. No irritated neighbors yelling at me to shut up.
I wasn’t surprised. This place wasn’t known for its sense of community.
People kept their heads down, minded their business, pretended they didn’t hear things they definitely heard.
Getting involved was how you invited trouble.
Everyone here knew it.
I swallowed and crouched slowly, scanning the floor until I spotted movement near the base of the stairs.
It wasn’t a rat. Or a cat. Or anything else my panic had conjured.
It was a fox. White as fresh snow, its fur almost glowing against the dingy concrete.
Too clean. Too soft. Like it didn’t belong anywhere this ugly.
Its dark eyes locked onto mine in a sharp, intelligent way that made my chest tighten for reasons I couldn’t explain.
“What are you doing here baby?” I murmured sweetly, crouching lower. “Are you lost?”
The fox tilted his head, ears twitching, like he was actually listening.
Don’t ask me how I knew the fox was male.
I just did. I reached out carefully, half expecting him to bolt, but he didn’t.
He padded closer instead, nose twitching, gaze never leaving my face.
When my fingers brushed his fur, it was softer than I expected, and warm too.
It awakened something in my chest I hadn’t realized was still raw.
I sniffled before I could stop myself, swallowing past the sudden lump in my throat.
I felt touch starved in a way that hurt a little.
The kind of ache you learned to ignore until something reminds you that you’re human.
“You're so cute. Where did you come from?”
I stroked his silky soft fur again. He leaned into my hand, pressing his head against my palm like he was asking for more.
His eyes slid half-closed, and a soft sound vibrated in his throat as he nudged closer, nuzzling into my wrist. Then he lifted his front paws off the concrete and braced them against my knee, stretching just enough to reach higher, nose brushing my sleeve.
A quiet laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. The sound surprised us both.
“You’re very friendly for a wild animal.”
He licked my fingers once, then shoved his nose into my hair when I leaned closer, whiskers brushing my cheek. I snorted, shaking my head, and for the first time all night the loneliness loosened its grip just a little. The thought of leaving him down here alone made my stomach twist.
“Yeah. I’m not leaving you here.”
I scooped him up before I could overthink it, tucking his small, warm body against my chest. He shifted once, then settled like he belonged there, head pressing beneath my chin, tail flicking lazily against my arm.
I grabbed my knife off the floor and stood with him in my arms. I climbed the stairs toward the fourth floor.
He nuzzled into my neck in response, warm breath ghosting across my skin. And despite everything, I smiled. For the first time, I didn’t feel lonely.