Lucky had spent three nights sleeping under the bridge by the river. The sound of the water was the only thing that reminded her she was still alive. Hunger was a slow, aching thing now, dulling her thoughts and hollowing her out.
On the fourth morning, when the rain came, she thought it might wash her away for good. She didn't move. She didn't have the strength to.
"Hey," a voice said — calm, careful, like someone speaking to a wounded animal.
She looked up. A man stood before her, holding an umbrella. He wasn't old, maybe in his thirties, his expression soft and almost kind. His eyes — dark and tired — carried something that looked like understanding.
"You'll get sick out here," he said, crouching down. "Come with me. You can get warm, have some food."
Lucky hesitated. Humans had ignored her since the day she came back. But his voice didn't sound cruel. It sounded… real.
He offered his hand. She took it.
His name was Adrian. He lived in a small apartment filled with old books and the smell of coffee. He gave her a towel, a blanket, and a bowl of soup. Lucky ate in silence, trying not to cry.
"You don't have to tell me anything," he said gently. "You can stay for a while. Until you figure things out."
For the first time since her return, Lucky felt something almost like warmth. She didn't see the way Adrian watched her when she turned away — the quiet curiosity in his eyes that wasn't entirely kind.
She wanted to believe in him.
And for a while, she did.