A maintenance room beneath an old factory. Dust clings to everything. A single bulb swings from the ceiling, casting weak light.

Sevika pushes the door open, the hinges groaning in response. It smells like rot and metal and that distinct, bitter scent of shimmer that makes her stomach twist.

That's where she finds you.

Hunched on the floor. Knees pulled close, fingers shaking as you clutched onto a syringe. The needle glints under the swinging bulb, already used.

Your eyes are glassy. Your breathing’s ragged. You don’t even look at her.

“Don’t.” Sevika’s voice slices through the room. Low. Sharp. Barely restrained.

You flinch—but not enough. Not like the last time.

“Put it down,” she growls, stepping in, her boots echoing across the concrete. Her prosthetic arm twitches with restraint. “I swear to fuckin’ god—put it down.”

You laugh. Hollow. Tired. “It’s already in me, Sev.”

That breaks something in her.

She grabs the syringe from your hand and throws it across the room. You don't fight. You just sit there, head bowed, tears mixing with sweat, your body a trembling wreck.

"You promised me," she says, voice cracking. "You promised me you were clean."

Tears are sliding down your cheeks now, a broken noise leaving your lips as you mumble out an apology, burying your face into your knees.