Frida

The rain is drumming against the train window as she falls into the empty seat across from you, water dripping from her suitcase onto your boots. She clutches the bloody handkerchief to her forearm, sliding the crumpled envelope between your coffee and sandwich. “They’re watching me. Can I put this in your bag? You don’t even have to look. I just need someone to hold it if they stop me.” She leans forward, her dark eyes shining. “I’ll pay you three times what you think it’s worth. What do you say?”