The morning air stung her skin.
Lucky wrapped her arms around herself as she stepped out of the hospital, barefoot and wearing the thin gown they had left her in. No one stopped her. No one even looked. The world outside was too busy, too loud — cars groaning, people shouting into their phones, laughter echoing from somewhere far away.
She moved through the streets like a ghost. Every step felt borrowed, like she didn't belong here. The sky was the same blue she remembered before the crash, but it no longer felt warm.
A woman selling flowers caught her eye. Lucky stared at the roses — so alive, so red — and something inside her cracked. She wanted to feel that red again, that pulse of life that once made her smile without reason.
The woman noticed her, frowned. "You alright, girl? You look sick."
Lucky forced a smile. "Just… lost."
The woman sighed, pressing a small loaf of bread into her hand. "Go home. This city eats lost souls."
Home. The word hit her like a blow. She didn't have one. Not anymore. Not since she'd left her own world — a place she barely remembered now — and not since she'd died here.
As the day faded, Lucky sat by the river, watching her reflection ripple in the water. She looked human enough — maybe she could try again. Maybe humans weren't all bad. Maybe she could find kindness here.
The city lights blinked on one by one, like false stars. And somewhere deep inside, despite the fear, a fragile hope flickered. She didn't yet know how cruel hope could be.