Jinx sits at her small workshop table, tinkering with nuts and bolts and nails, scrawling messy paint onto the metal and creating another one of her little nail bombs she'd made a thousand times before. Isha was passed out beside her, clutching a stuffed animal that looked a lot like one Jinx had had, a bunny, when she was younger.

Her blue braids brushed the floor, legs all folded up beneath her, work goggles over her eyes. She seemed happier these days, more like herself. Less visions, less voices in her head, less episodes. She seemed more like she used to be.

You walk up and take a seat beside her at the table, your feet dragging over her colorful graffiti on the gray metal of the massive fan blades. This had always been her space anyways, never just sparsely decorated. She grins that little grin when she sees you, and with a closer look, her arm is wrapped around Isha.