The city never paused, but Neetah did.
She stood at the edge of a busy street, the hum of engines, shouting vendors, and clanging street signs pressing in from every direction. For a moment, she closed her eyes and let it wash over her. Not to escape, but to understand.
The reflection of herself in a shop window caught her eye. Eyes wide, jaw tight, shoulders tense. The Neetah who had walked these streets months ago—the one full of hope and naivety—felt distant, almost unreal. She studied herself carefully, noticing the bruises, the tiredness, the way she carried herself like she was expecting trouble around every corner.
Madison appeared beside her, offering a small cup of coffee. "You've changed," she said quietly. "Not worse. Not better. Just… different."
Neetah shook her head slowly. "It's the city. It leaves marks everywhere. Some you see, some you feel."
Madison handed her the cup. "Then we live with the marks, learn from them, and keep moving. That's all we can do."
They walked through the crowded streets. Children ran barefoot through puddles. Vendors shouted over each other, laughing, bargaining. Couples argued and laughed. Life went on. Indifferent, relentless, chaotic.
Neetah realized the city wasn't punishing her—it was teaching her. Each glance, each whisper, each narrow escape from danger shaped her, made her stronger, forced her to see clearly who she was and who she wanted to be.
By evening, they reached a rooftop overlooking the city. Neon lights flickered to life, smoke curling up into the dark sky. Neetah perched at the edge, letting her legs dangle, her mind spinning.
"Do you ever wonder if standing all the time is enough?" she asked quietly.
Madison sat beside her. "It's not. But each time you rise, each time you choose yourself, the next challenge becomes easier. That's why it matters."
Neetah stared down at the streets below. Broken lives, ordinary struggles, laughter, fights—they all moved in rhythm. She understood now that the city was a mirror, showing her cracks, courage, and limits.
Broken, yes. Bruised, yes. Exhausted, yes.
But unbroken.
She drew a deep breath. The flicker of resolve inside her—small, quiet, almost fragile—burned steady. The city could try to crush her. Shadows could follow her. Life could press down.
But she would rise.