“By midday, she’s at the factory. Her body remembers the work better than her mind does - wrists turning, eyes fixed, the ache returning like an old friend. The machines drone louder than thought, and the hours stretch like fog. No one speaks. No one needs to.
When the shift ends, she will walk straight to the clinic. Her limbs were heavier then. The hollow tree chamber would be waiting, warm in its isolation. But she always leaves emptier than she came.”
