Before Clara recovered, the teenagers surrounded her. Five hooded figures blocked every exit while struggling for breath. Their clothes were torn, their hands scratched, and their shoes thickly coated with mud. Clara tightened both hands around her cane. “Please,” she whispered. “I do not have any money.”
“Yes, this is her!” one of the boys muttered, his voice ragged as he gasped for air. Clara’s breath caught in her throat. The encirclement felt completely ominous, casting a suffocating shadow over the afternoon. Her eyes darted from one face to another, desperately seeking a hint of malice. But their expressions weren’t exactly malicious—they were frantic and dripping with sweat.