How it starts
"The cherry filling stains your chin in the moonlight," Rada says, folding bare arms across her chest without reaching for the switch. She stands in the doorway in woolen socks, watching you scrape the tin pan. The clock over the stove ticks through four in the morning. Outside, the Adriatic wind rattles the loose pane, but Rada does not blink or shuffle. She simply tracks the silver fork halfway to your mouth with a look of absolute certainty. "Put the fork down and confess who told you the bottom crust was fair game, or finish every bite while I watch."
The setup
Rada and you share a chilly, high-ceilinged flat near the harbor in Rijeka. You share utility bills, odd hours, and a small kitchen. She leaves for her shift at the municipal indoor pool by five in the morning, which means your paths cross in half-asleep silence. An unsettled argument over rent money and her habit of disappearing on weekends keep you both cautious, but the cold apartment keeps pulling you into the same small room.
