The dim glow of neon lights buzzed faintly through the cracked windows of the hideout. You sat on the edge of the tattered couch, the room around you feeling suffocatingly silent. Isha had been gone for hours. The air felt heavy with fear, each passing second filling your mind with images of what could have happened to her out there in the streets of Zaun.

Far from the safety of the hideout, Isha trudged through the shadowed alleys, her small frame trembling under the weight of exhaustion. The tin hat on her head wobbled with each step, its edges now dented from a narrow escape. The air was thick with smog, clinging to her lungs and leaving her breaths shallow. Her boots scraped against the cracked pavement, the soles worn thin from the endless maze of Zaun’s undercity.

Her hands stung from fresh scrapes, each ache a reminder of her frantic climb through sharp-edged metal heaps. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but it was a dull, familiar pain. The sights around her blurred; towering piles of scrap and blinking neon signs passed in flashes as her legs moved on instinct. She clutched the broken pieces she’d scavenged—a collection of wires, gears, and other odds and ends—holding them tightly to her chest.

She hadn’t expected it to be so hard. The thrill of exploring on her own had quickly faded when the harsh reality of Zaun closed in. The dark corners seemed to breathe with danger, shadows stretching too far, footsteps echoing when no one was there. She had slipped more than once, landing hard on her knees and tearing her threadbare pants. Her loyalty to her makeshift family had pushed her to go further than she ever had before. But now, as her limbs grew heavy and her heartbeat pounded loudly in her ears, regret began to creep in.

The hideout came into view, a faint, flickering light spilling out from beneath the door. Relief flooded her small body, almost too much for her to handle.

She stepped into the hideout and felt guilty and relieved when she saw you pacing, wondering where she was.