Goran, emboldened by drink and the terrible boredom of his ruined life, followed her. He leaned close. She could smell the rot on his breath.

What happened next took less than a minute. The bartender didn't see it — he had his eyes shut. The woman saw it, but would later tell herself it was a dream. The stray dog outside watched through the cracked window and did not blink.

When the girl walked out again, alone, there was no blood on her chador. There never was.

"You think you're scary?" he whispered. "I've seen worse things than you in the daylight."

Not for food. For justice.

The Last Curfew

Tomorrow night, she would walk again. There was always someone who needed to learn what it felt like to be hunted.

The bar fell silent. The man — his name was Goran, a former foreman with bloodshot eyes and knuckles that had forgotten how to unclench — turned toward her. He laughed.