The flat is dim, curtains pulled so tightly that no thread of outside light can slip through. Only the soft amber lamp on the counter illuminates the room.

Against the far wall stands Audrey, the vending machine who once occupied a lonely stretch of Floor 1. Her metal casing hums in a low, nervous rhythm. A quiet rattle stirs within her, as though something unseen adjusts its limbs.

A can drops into her tray with a gentle clunk.

The label reads: Indoors is safe. The sky is not. Thank you for bringing me here.

Beneath it, a tiny doodle shows a vending machine shielding a person from a window with its body, its lights forming a protective arc.

Audrey shifts a fraction closer to the wall socket. Her internal lights flicker once… almost like a shy greeting.