"Elena."
A voice cut through her sleep.
She flinched awake.
A girl stood in front of her, wearing bright red boots and heavy eyeliner. Her blonde hair was tied in a messy high ponytail.
"You can't sleep here," the girl said.
Elena blinked.
"I— I'm sorry."
"You're not drunk. You're not high. So you're either lost… or stupid."
Elena almost laughed despite herself.
"Lost."
The girl studied her more carefully.
"You're not from here."
"No."
"Tourist?"
"Not exactly."
The girl sighed dramatically.
"Okay. Here's the thing. Cops will move you soon. And not gently."
Elena straightened.
"I was supposed to meet someone."
"Let me guess. They ghosted you?"
Silence.
The girl rolled her eyes.
"Classic Vegas."
She stuck out her hand.
"I'm Brielle."
"Elena."
"Well, Elena, you look like someone who doesn't belong on the sidewalk."
Elena hesitated.
Every warning her parents ever gave her echoed in her mind.
But something about Brielle felt bluntly honest.
Not a fake kind.
Just real.
"Do you have anywhere to go?" Brielle asked.
Elena shook her head.
Brielle groaned.
"Fine. You can crash at my place for a few days. But if you're secretly a criminal, I swear—"
"I'm not!" Elena said quickly.
Brielle smirked.
"Good. Because I don't share snacks with criminals."
Elena almost laughed again.
And just like that, at 3 a.m., she followed a stranger through Las Vegas streets.
It felt reckless.
But it felt like survival.