Drizzle tapped against the old window frame, its paint long since peeled away. Rosemary sat at the edge of a narrow bed, the thin mattress creaking with every movement. The small room held nothing more than a rickety wardrobe, a wooden table with a single chair, and a portable stove in the corner that was rarely lit.

She stared at the damp wall, dark patches of mold spreading across it. Her breathing was heavy.

“Is this my life now?” she whispered, her voice faint. “Once I could walk through a grand house, crystal lights shining overhead… and now, I’m not even sure what I’ll eat tomorrow.”

Her phone buzzed on...