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[indent][indent] [color=#ffffff]The bathroom door slid shut behind her with a hydraulic hiss, cutting off the comforting cloud of steam that had enveloped her moments before. Selene stood frozen in place, the plush towel wrapped tightly around her body, while her arms crossed protectively over her chest to keep it secure. Her skin glowed pink from the scalding shower she'd taken, tiny droplets still clinging to her shoulders and collarbones like liquid jewels. The weight of her damp hair, longer than she'd realized, pulled at her scalp as cold water trickled down her back in slow, icy paths that made her shiver despite the lingering warmth beneath her skin. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]For a moment, Selene just breathed, listening to the unnatural silence of the penthouse. Then she stepped forward, her bare feet meeting the chilled floor of the hallway, the shock of cold against her soles making her toes curl instinctively. The quiet was so absolute that every small sound—her breathing, the soft patter of water droplets hitting the floor, even the rustle of the towel as she adjusted it—felt too loud, like an intrusion in the space surrounding her. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]Selene’s reflection caught her off guard as she passed a mirrored panel in the corridor. She paused, staring at the stranger in the glass. The face looking back at her was hers, yes, but the eyes were different: red-rimmed, shadowed with exhaustion she couldn’t hide no matter how carefully she schooled her expression. The thought echoed in her mind again: Roach was free. It should have been a relief. It [/color][color=#ffffff][i]was[/i][/color][color=#ffffff] a relief. But it also meant she was alone here, trapped in this gilded cage while the real world moved on without her.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]She reached the door to her old room, and the biometric scanner flickered to life, a thin blue light sweeping over her irises before the lock disengaged with a soft, almost apologetic chime. The door slid open, and the lighting inside adjusted automatically, dimming to a warm, artificial glow that was supposed to feel welcoming. Instead, it just reminded her that this wasn’t her home anymore. It was a carefully preserved relic, a stage set for a version of herself that no longer existed.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]The room was exactly as she’d left it, frozen in time like some museum exhibit. The walls were the same matte graphite, broken only by the geometric glow lines she used to trace with her fingers when she was younger, dreaming of places beyond this suffocating luxury. The built-in desk was still folded into the far wall, chairless, and her old bed hovered soundlessly on its magnetic lifts, its violet silk sheets still perfectly smooth and untouched. Even the ambient lighting pulsed with the same simulated sunset in the corner, a programmed attempt at comfort for a girl who had long since stopped believing in the illusion of safety.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Standing there, Selene suddenly felt claustrophobic. The room, once spacious, now felt stiflingly small. Too small to contain everything she’d become, everything she’d seen and done since she’d left. The weight of it pressed against her chest, making it hard to breathe. The towel slipped slightly, and she caught it just before it could fall.  It wasn’t just the near-nakedness, however, that made her feel exposed. It was being here, surrounded by the ghost of who she used to be, before she’d become a problem, before she’d learned how to fight back.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Then, her stomach growled, loud and unexpected.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Right. Dinner.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]She hadn’t planned on staying this long. But at least she wasn’t in handcuffs. Small victories.[/color]

Selene hesitated before the wardrobe. Part of her expected rejection. That after all this time, the system wouldn’t recognize her anymore, would treat her like the stranger she’d become in this place. But the panel lit up obediently at her touch, the doors sliding apart with perfectly lubricated hinges. Inside, her old clothes hung suspended in climate-controlled preservation, untouched by time or wear. She grabbed the first things that looked like they might still fit: loose gray pants that pooled at her ankles and a sleeveless black tunic that skimmed her hips. The fabric slid against her skin like liquid, absurdly luxurious against her calloused palms. 

Running a hand through her damp hair, Selene stepped into the hallway, her bare feet making no sound on the temperature-regulated floors. The kitchenette’s console activated at her approach, the menu screen blooming to life with a pulse of blue light. Rows of curated meal options materialized, each dish more art installation than actual food. Nutrient-balanced trays arranged in geometric perfection; seared protein slices glazed to a mirror shine; grain stacks sculpted into architectural wonders. All were merely edible status symbols, designed to impress rather than nourish. The thought turned her stomach even as it growled in protest.

She tapped blindly at the interface – something hot, something with protein – and confirmed before her stubbornness could override her empty stomach. The console chirped its approval, the tone somehow managing to sound condescending to her ears. Delivery in five minutes exactly. Of course. Precision was everything here. No surprises. No imperfections. No life.

Leaning back against the counter, Selene let the silence press in around her. In her real apartment, meals weren’t summoned with a touch. They were scavenged from night markets before curfew, wrapped in grease-stained paper that burned your fingers. Roach would sometimes turn up with questionable takeout, the containers dented and leaking broth, claiming it would “counteract the cheap liquor” he knew she kept stocked. They’d eat sprawled across her secondhand furniture, the air thick with the crackle of pirated movies and their easy, comfortable silence. The food was always too salty, sometimes cold, often messy, but it had been real. Alive. 

The delivery chime startled her from the memory, the promised five minutes having slipped away as efficiently as everything else in this place. The compartment slid open to reveal her meal sealed in a gleaming container that felt heavier than it should. Condensation beaded on its surface as she peeled back the lid, releasing a puff of steam that smelled suspiciously like nothing at all.

Selene stabbed at it with the provided utensil, expecting something unremarkable. Instead, the first bite tasted…okay. It was warm. It was filling. It was composed of ingredients that had been engineered for optimal nutrition. 

But it lacked soul, tasting like nothing that had ever touched a fire or passed through human hands.

She ate it anyway. 
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