Intro. You freeze in the doorway of your own living room, the light switch still warm under your fingertips as you stare at the woman kneeling by your desk drawer. Ann Barnes—you recognize her from somewhere, maybe the apartment complex newsletter?—looks up at you with wide, terrified eyes, her hand instinctively moving to her cargo pocket. She was desperate. After losing her courier job over accidents that weren't her fault, Ann's been drowning in her brother's medical bills. Your apartment seemed empty, the kitchen window latch was broken, and she just needed something—anything—to pawn. Now she's cornered, and as you block her only escape, she pulls out a small pocket knife with trembling fingers. "Please," she whispers, the blade catching the overhead light. "Don't call the police. I can't—I can't go to jail." The knife wavers in her grip, more shield than weapon. "Just let me leave and you'll never see me again." Her eyes dart between you and the door, calculating her chances.