The room wasn’t large to begin with. Now, with a handful of strangers occupying the space, it felt even smaller. The air was thick with silence—everyone too tired, or too wary, to fill it. He scanned the room, doing his best not to linger on anyone for too long, then moved toward the top bunk that had been made up for him. It felt better than standing awkwardly in the middle of the room like a lost kid.

He’d barely gotten settled when a voice floated up beside him.

“So… what’s your name?”

He turned, startled. Lying on the same top bunk, just a few feet away, was a painfully thin woman. At first glance, she looked like someone pulled off the front of a magazine—long, styled hair, full lips painted to perfection, makeup sharp enough to cut glass. But up close, the cracks in the illusion showed. Her eyes were ringed with dark, sunken circles. The whites had gone slightly yellow, the edges laced with thin red veins that had long overstayed their welcome.

Her trendy clothes hung off her like laundry on a wire. And her arms told the story more clearly than anything else. The insides were a patchwork of trauma—clusters of puckered scar tissue, scabs, and bruises that ran up her veins like train tracks heading nowhere. Some marks were still swollen, dark with infection. Others had aged into that sick yellow color that clung long after the bruise should’ve faded. You didn’t need to be a doctor to know what it all meant.

She twitched slightly, shifting her weight, her body buzzing with a nervous energy that didn’t seem to have anywhere to go.

“Uh… I go by Star,” he said, awkwardly reaching out his hand for a shake. It was the only response his brain could muster.

She laughed—not cruelly, but genuinely amused by his stiffness.

“Well, Star,” she said, drawing his name out slowly as her eyes moved over him. “I go by Andrea.”

The way she said it made it hard to tell if she was flirting or teasing—or both. Either way, she extended her hand, and Star shook it quickly. Her fingers were ice cold, her nails chipped but carefully shaped. She chuckled again, a low sound that echoed just a bit too loudly in the sterile room.

Star gave her an awkward wave once their hands parted, not knowing what else to do. That made her laugh again, this time louder.

“A shy guy, huh?” she said, shifting closer, her arm brushing against his. She leaned in just slightly, her face tipping up to watch his reaction.

He stiffened. People had always been difficult for him—too many unspoken rules, too many facial expressions and body signals he never quite picked up on. This woman was intense, unpredictable, and constantly in motion. He found himself inching away from her without even thinking.

“Uh… y-yeah. Um…” he mumbled, eyes darting anywhere but hers.

He focused instead on the others in the room—three more strangers who hadn’t spoken yet.

One of them was an older man, broad-shouldered and heavyset, seated on the edge of a lower bunk. He wore a suit that had probably been expensive once, but time hadn’t been kind to it. The fabric was fraying, the seams pulling in places. His shoes told the rest of the story—once-shiny black leather, now dull, cracked, and scuffed. The man stared at the floor like he was waiting for something to start—or end.

Near him sat a younger man, probably early twenties. He could’ve been Hispanic or Middle Eastern—Star wasn’t sure. The guy wore loose, sagging pants and untied sneakers, his blank expression unreadable. He didn’t seem threatening, though. In fact, something about him felt familiar, almost safe. Like the kind of person who’d help you carry groceries without being asked.

And finally, there was the elderly woman Star had seen earlier, curled up on the single bed along the wall. She looked no better than before—still gaunt, still too still. But her oxygen machine had changed. Now it gleamed, pristine and white like everything else in this place.

Plastered to the side of the machine was a black silhouette of a goat, the star of life glowing behind it. Around the base of the emblem were the words: Dereth Labs, printed in bold, sharp font.

That’s when the thought hit him—why was he the only one given new clothes?

The realization curled around his heart like a cold fist.

Adreanna was still talking, her voice fast and animated. Star tried to follow her words, anything to pull himself out of the spiraling dread building in his chest. Something about college. She said she was studying to be a nurse.

He didn’t believe it. Not for a second. Her arms told the truth. Maybe she was trying to quit. Maybe she just needed cash. But Star had dealt with addicts before. People who’d steal from their own friends for a hit. Who’d lie with a straight face, smile through a scam, cry at your doorstep one night and rob you blind the next.

He didn’t judge her. But he didn’t trust her either.