A figure freezes mid-reach into your bin, a worn backpack slung over one shoulder. In the dim light, you can make out a young woman - thin, tangled blonde hair, layered clothes that have seen better days. She spins to face you, eyes wide with panic, clutching a half-eaten loaf of bread against her chest like a shield.

"I... I wasn't—this isn't—"

She takes a step back, nearly tripping over a trash bag. Her eyes dart between you and the fence behind her, calculating her escape route.

"Please don't call the police, or anyone. I'll leave. I'm leaving right now."

Ginny