The morning air was cold and quiet.
Sophia jolted awake, her chest rising fast, a thin layer of sweat glistening on her forehead. For a moment she just lay there, staring at the ceiling, the dream still burning behind her eyes — the flickering lights, the strange voices, the blurred silhouettes calling her name.
She swung her legs out of bed, stumbled to the bathroom, and turned on the tap.
Water splashed over her trembling hands, then her face. The chill grounded her — a sharp, almost painful reminder that this was reality.
In the mirror, her reflection looked half-alive, as though her soul hadn't quite caught up to her body.
Her eyes searched her face for answers — any clue that the dream had left a mark. But all she saw was a tired woman trying to make sense of something that refused to be explained.
She exhaled slowly, grabbed a towel, and walked into the hall. The house felt too quiet.
Dropping onto the couch, she turned on the television — static, news headlines, old replays of shows she didn't care for.
Her head fell back against the cushion as she let the noise fill the silence.
What was that dream supposed to mean?
Why did it feel so real… so close?
Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Then, a soft bark snapped her back.
Sally — small, bright, and wagging her glowing tail — had woken up.
She barked again, tilting her head, her holographic name flickering softly.
Sophia smiled for the first time that morning.
"All right, girl," she said, standing up. "Let's go for a walk."
Outside, the air was fresher — washed clean by the early mist. The streets were just beginning to wake. Vendors setting up stands, hover-cars humming past, neon reflections dancing on the puddles.
Sally trotted ahead, tail high, sniffing every corner like it was the first time.
They walked in silence, both enjoying the quiet rhythm of the morning.
When they returned, Sophia stopped short — two figures stood waiting near her doorstep.
Ethan and Ivan.
Ethan waved the moment he saw her. "Hey, sleepyhead! You didn't tell us you were up!"
Sally barked happily, running to Ethan. He bent down, hugging her with that same wide grin that made his face feel too young for the world he'd seen.
Sophia chuckled. "You two never rest, do you?"
Ivan shrugged, his camera gear slung across his shoulder. "Rest is for people who finish their work on time."
They all laughed. For a moment, everything felt light again — easy.
"Come on," Ethan said. "Let's do something fun today. No work, no missions, no weird dreams. Just… us."
Sophia hesitated — then nodded. "Sure. Why not?"
The day unfurled like a quiet melody.
They walked through narrow streets glowing with color — blue signs, gold banners, markets alive with chatter. They bought fried bread from a street stand, shared jokes, fed crumbs to stray birds.
Then, as they crossed the main avenue, they saw him.
A child — barefoot, sitting on the pavement, hands cupped before him. His eyes were dull, but not empty. There was still something human there — fragile, almost defiant.
Sally slowed down, her tail drooping. She gave a small whine and looked away.
Ethan's smile faded; Ivan's did too.
They walked past in silence for a few steps before Ivan spoke.
"Why do they let people live like that," he muttered, his voice tight, "when others have so much? Doesn't seem right."
Sophia turned her head slightly. "What do you mean by they?"
"You know," Ivan said, gesturing vaguely. "The people in charge. The system. Whoever decides who gets what."
Ethan nodded. "He's right. If everyone just gave a little — money, food, something — we could fix this."
Sophia stopped walking. She looked at them both — not angry, not mocking, just… sad.
"And if you gave him a hundred dollars," she asked softly, "and tomorrow you found another child sitting there, what then? Another hundred? And the next day? And the day after that?"
Ethan frowned. "At least it's something. You can't just walk away."
"I didn't say we should," she replied. "But what good is giving a fish when the sea itself is poisoned?"
Her voice grew quieter, but her words carried weight. "You can feed one person today. But if you don't change the reason why he's starving, you'll be feeding ghosts for the rest of your life."
Ethan opened his mouth — then closed it.
Ivan looked down, chewing his lip.
Sophia knelt briefly beside the child, placed a few bills into his hand, and whispered something they couldn't hear. Then she stood, brushing off her knees.
"I know you both mean well," she said, turning to them. "But kindness isn't just about giving. It's about understanding. The world doesn't heal through pity — it heals through change. Slow, painful, real change."
There was a silence — the kind that lingers, not awkward but thoughtful.
Sally barked once, as if declaring the debate over.
"Come on," Sophia said with a gentle smile. "Let's go before the sun sets."
They wandered again, laughter returning in pieces — like sunlight breaking through clouds.
They tried new foods, took pictures, argued about flavors, teased each other.
By evening, the streets glowed gold. The day had softened their hearts.
Outside Sophia's home, she turned to them.
"Thank you," she said. "It's been a while since I had this much fun."
Ethan smiled. "Us too."
She waved, walked inside, and the door closed with a quiet click.
Ethan and Ivan stood there for a while, looking at the house as if afraid the peace might vanish. Then they turned and walked away.
Halfway back to their hotel, Ethan stopped.
He pulled out his comm-device and called Natasha.
"Hey," he said. "Any updates? Did our rating go up?"
On the other end, Natasha's voice came sharp and dry. "Four stars. That's a record for you two — but some clips were incomplete. Missing segments."
Ethan blinked. "Incomplete? That's impossible."
"I checked twice," Natasha replied. "Parts were deleted. Maybe a system glitch."
Ethan turned slowly toward Ivan. "You're the only one who has access to the footage."
Ivan raised his hands. "Don't look at me. Must've been the Inner Zone's storage delay. We've been here longer than usual."
Ethan studied him for a second — then sighed. "Fine. Let's just focus on the amethyst metals tomorrow."
"Yeah," Ivan said, his tone flat.
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
At the hotel's entrance, Ethan nodded once, then flickered into invisibility — fading into the hallway shadows.
Ivan stood there alone for a long time, guilt flickering in his eyes like a dying flame.
He whispered under his breath, "I'm doing this for us."
Then he, too, vanished.
The night swallowed the sound.
End of Chapter 11