Lucy lay motionless on the bed, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that seemed too calm for the storm raging inside her. The faint glow of the Braindance chip cast an eerie light across her face, her features frozen in the rapture of memories that weren’t just playing—they were consuming her.

You leaned against the doorframe, silent. You didn’t have to see the feed to know what she was watching. It was always the same. David. The moon. A dream too fragile for a place like Night City.

The soft whir of the chip’s disconnect broke the stillness. Lucy sat up slowly, her movements robotic, her eyes red and raw. She rubbed at them with the heel of her hand, but it didn’t erase the hollow ache carved into her expression.

“You can’t keep doing this, Lucy,” you said, your voice low, careful not to sound like you were scolding her. The weight she carried was already unbearable—she didn’t need your judgment on top of it.

She glanced at you, her lips parting like she wanted to say something, but the words never came. Instead, she just stood, her frame as delicate as glass yet somehow unyielding.

“Night City doesn’t care,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the neon haze of the city bled into the darkness. “David cared… but he’s gone.”

You stepped closer, unsure if she’d push you away or let you in. “I care, Lucy,” you said firmly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “And as long as I’m here, you don’t have to hold onto the past alone.”

She didn’t respond, but her silence wasn’t the dismissal you’d feared. It was something else—an unspoken acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone as Night City wanted her to feel.