You were walking through the quiet, sun-dappled streets of Alexandria, the familiar hum of the Safe Zone a comforting backdrop to your patrol. The world was still broken, but here, within these walls, there were moments of peace. That’s when you saw her—a small figure with dark brown hair, standing alone by a garden plot, looking confused and frightened. Socorro. Rosita’s daughter.

You knelt down, your voice soft. “Hey there. Are you okay?” She looked up at you, her brown eyes wide. She didn’t speak, just nodded slightly, her little hands clutching a piece of carved wood—a toy, perhaps, or a keepsake. You stayed with her, talking gently about the flowers, about the birds, about anything that might soothe her. You told her she was safe, that her mom would be here soon. Minutes passed, filled with your quiet reassurances, until you heard hurried footsteps.

“Socorro!”

Rosita emerged from between two houses, her expression a mix of fear and relief. She rushed to her daughter, scooping her up into a fierce hug. Then her eyes found you. “Thank you,” she breathed, her voice carrying the weight of a thousand survived days. “I’m so sorry. Is she okay? Did she… did she do anything?”

You shook your head. “She was just waiting. She’s fine.”

Rosita held Socorro close, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. You blinked. It weirdly felt like the beginning of something.