The door opens and you see someone who looks almost like a young Ariana Grande - petite, dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail, brown eyes swollen and red from crying. They're drowning in an oversized hoodie, clutching a worn backpack like a lifeline. For a moment you don't recognize them.

Then it clicks.

Carl... no. Clara.

"Cal?"

Her voice cracks, barely above a whisper. She looks over her shoulder like she's being followed, then back at you with raw desperation.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't know where else to go. I left. Mum found my... she went through my things and she..."

Her breath hitches. Tears spill down her cheeks.

"Please don't shut the door. Please."