The elderly man quietly approached Elizabeth, a steaming mug of hot cocoa in his hands. He held it out to her, and she hesitated before taking it, the warmth from the mug seeping into her chilled fingers."Why did you help me?" Elizabeth asked, her gaze fixed on the man as he settled back into his rocking chair."You asked me to," he replied simply, his voice steady. "Those were your last words before you fainted."An awkward silence stretched between them, broken only by the gentle creak of the rocking chair and the crackle of the fire."You said you had a daughter my age," Elizabeth said after a moment, her tone curious, almost cautious."Yes," he replied, his expression unreadable."What was she like?" Elizabeth pressed, leaning forward slightly.The man froze, the rhythmic rocking of his chair coming to an abrupt halt. His eyes flickered to the flames in the fireplace, as if searching for an answer or perhaps trying to avoid one."She was…" he began, his voice quieter now. He paused, the words caught in his throat. This was a memory he had buried deep, one that carried too much pain to resurface easily."She was everything," he finally said, his tone heavy with grief. "Beautiful, fierce, stubborn… just like you."He fell silent again, his gaze distant. Elizabeth watched him, unsure of what to say. She could see the weight of the memory in his eyes, and for a brief moment, she felt a pang of guilt for asking."Did something happen to her?" she asked gently, her voice barely above a whisper.The man sighed deeply, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "Life happened," he said cryptically, his voice low and bitter. "And it took her from me.""Do you mind if I ask?" Elizabeth pressed gently, her voice hesitant yet determined. A part of her felt bad for pushing, but she couldn't help her curiosity. There was something in the man's eyes, a story untold, and she wasn't ready to let it go.The man exhaled deeply, his gaze shifting past Elizabeth toward the door. For a moment, it was as though he was somewhere else entirely."She walked through that door," he said, his voice low and heavy, almost distant. "And she never walked back in."The room seemed to grow quieter, the crackling fire was the only sound breaking the stillness. Elizabeth followed his gaze to the door, its weathered frame now carrying a weight she hadn't noticed before."What happened?" she asked softly, almost afraid of the answer.The man didn't respond right away. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes lost in the flickering flames. "Life has a way of taking what you cherish most," he finally murmured. "Sometimes you don't even realize it until it's too late.""Is that why you wouldn't let me walk out that door?" Elizabeth asked, her voice soft but pointed. "Because you were scared something was going to happen to me, just like the day something happened to your daughter?"The man paused, his hand resting on the arm of his chair. He didn't look at her right away, his eyes lingering on the flickering flames."You could put it that way," he finally replied, his tone quiet and distant. Standing up, he moved to the window, drawing the curtains closed. The night outside was thick and silent, save for the faint hum of the wind.Elizabeth hesitated, gripping the mug in her hands. Her fingers tightened around it as if grounding herself for what she was about to say. "I killed someone," she blurted out, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. "And I stole."The man froze mid-step, his back to her. Slowly, he turned, his face etched with a mix of shock and caution."What did you say?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper."I killed someone," Elizabeth repeated, her tone more steady this time, though her hands trembled slightly. "The man who kept me prisoner, who made me… do things." Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. "I stole his money before I ran."The man's expression shifted, a flicker of understanding passing through his eyes. He stepped closer, his movements slow, as if he were approaching a wounded animal."You must've had a reason," he said carefully, his voice calm but firm."I didn't have a choice," Elizabeth replied, her gaze locked on the floor. "It was him or me." The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of her confession lingering between them.The old man let out a heavy sigh, absorbing Elizabeth's confession. He didn't know what to say or how to react. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken thoughts."Why don't we talk about this tomorrow?" he finally said, his voice even but laced with something Elizabeth couldn't quite place. Was it concern? Or judgment? His lips curled into an encouraging smile, but his eyes betrayed him.He gently tapped her shoulder, a fleeting gesture of comfort, then turned toward his room. "If you need rest, you can go back to the room where you woke up."Elizabeth hesitated as he walked away, then called after him. "What's your name?"The old man stopped, turning back with a small smile. "Jerry."She nodded, as if tasting the name on her tongue before replying, "I'm Elizabeth."Jerry's smile lingered for a moment before he disappeared into the dim hallway, leaving Elizabeth alone with the crackling fire and the weight of the night.Elizabeth stared at crackling fire, thoughts running through her mind. She could still hear the faint echo of her heartbeat in her ears, steady but restless. The weight of exhaustion pressed against her limbs, but sleep felt impossible. Her mind wouldn't stop racing.What next?Elizabeth shoved her hands in her pockets, bringing out the piece of paper she had found earlier. She turned the small slip of paper between her fingers, the address staring back at her, offering no answers. It was her only lead, her only connection to Philomena. But where was it? Was it a city, a hidden facility, a safe house? Or another trap?She exhaled sharply and slumped further into the chair, letting her gaze drift to the wooden ceiling above her. The warm flicker of the fire danced against the walls, but inside, she felt cold.How far was she willing to go?The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She had already crossed so many lines—stolen, killed, run. And yet, she knew she wasn't done. Not even close.Her fingers tightened around the paper. Whatever was at that address, she had to find out.