The fluorescent lights of the factory floor buzzed like dying insects, casting a sickly pallor over Mia's exhausted face. She methodically pced components into circuit boards, her movements mechanical after twelve hours of repetitive work. At twenty-three, her youth had been worn away by double shifts and empty cupboards.

  "Thompson! Pick up the pace, or you're staying te again," her supervisor barked, his coffee breath wafting over her shoulder.

  Mia nodded silently, increasing her speed despite the ache in her fingers. She'd learned long ago that words only invited more cruelty. As she worked, her mind drifted to the small, moldy apartment she shared with three other factory workers. The thought of returning to that pce—with its paper-thin walls and the constant arguments of her roommates—made her shoulders slump further.

  During her brief lunch break, she sat alone in the corner of the cafeteria, eating the same instant noodles she'd had for the past week. Her phone, a battered model from five years ago, buzzed with a notification about an overdue utility bill. She ignored it, knowing her account bance wouldn't change the situation.

  The other workers chatted and ughed around her, but Mia remained invisible. She'd learned that lesson too—friendship required energy she couldn't spare and trust she couldn't afford. Every retionship in her life had ended in betrayal or abandonment, starting with the parents who'd left her at an orphanage when she was six.

  As the shift finally ended at midnight, Mia dragged herself to the bus stop. The night air bit at her thin jacket, and she huddled into herself, watching her breath fog in the cold. A group of well-dressed young people passed by, ughing and talking about their pns for the weekend. One of them accidentally bumped into her, muttering a half-hearted apology without looking back.

  In that moment, standing alone at the bus stop, Mia felt the weight of her existence like a physical burden. Twenty-three years of struggle, of scraping by, of being nobody to anyone. The city lights blurred as tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly. Crying was a luxury she couldn't afford.

  The bus arrived, nearly empty at this hour. Mia took her usual seat by the window, watching the city pass by in a haze of neon and shadow. Tomorrow would be the same. And the day after. And the day after that. This was her life—an endless cycle of work, exhaustion, and loneliness.

  She had no idea that everything was about to change.