(Elara POV)
By the time I leave the office, it's dark.
It usually is.
I take the subway because it's cheaper, because it doesn't ask questions, because no one notices a woman standing quietly in the corner, holding her bag a little too close.
I stand the whole way.
My building looks tired when I reach it. The paint is peeling near the entrance, and the hallway light flickers like it's considering giving up.
I climb the stairs instead of taking the elevator. It's slower, but it works more often.
Inside my apartment, the silence settles immediately.
It's small. Old. Barely enough space to turn around without bumping into something. I hang my coat carefully on the hook by the door — the same coat I've worn for three winters now.
I don't turn on all the lights.
I don't need to.
Dinner is instant noodles again.
I eat them standing by the counter, scrolling through my phone, calculating in my head.
Rent.
Utilities.
Medical bills.
The numbers never change.
My phone buzzes.
Mom
I answer on the second ring.
"Did you eat?" she asks.
"Yes," I say without thinking.
There's a pause. She knows.
"You work too hard," she says gently. "You don't have to do everything alone."
"I know," I reply, forcing a smile into my voice. "But I'm okay. Really."
We talk about nothing important. The weather. A nurse she likes. A show she hasn't finished watching yet.
When the call ends, I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the wall.
I open my laptop and log into my bank account.
The balance makes my chest tighten.
I close it again.
Lying down, I stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks like constellations.
Tomorrow, I'll wake up early.
Tomorrow, I'll go back to Hale Industries.
Tomorrow, I'll be invisible again.
That's how I survive.
And survival, for now, has to be enough.