She walks five kilometres a day to a factory that recycles breath.
Thirty-six hours a week keeps her alive without making her worth the cost of care.
The system is precise. Efficient. Quiet.
On her days off, she wanders a city designed to endure without noticing the people inside it. She collects glass. Counts food. Avoids attention. Listens to the voice that keeps her moving when routine threatens to erase her.
Beyond the monitored zones lies a forest no one talks about—a place with no schedules, no thresholds, and no accounting. People say those who enter do not return.