The city of Agauzu didn't sleep.
Its streets pulsed with light even at night, and headlights and signboards were painting movement across stone and glass. People moved fast here, like they were always going somewhere—somewhere important. It made Luna feel even smaller.
The bus finally stopped near a worn-down terminal. Luna stepped off first, guiding Louis with one hand and gripping their mother's small bag with the other. The air was thicker than back home, heavier with car smoke and strangers' noise.
They stood on the pavement as vehicles roared by, the dust of their escape still clinging to their clothes and skin. They looked out of place. Because they were.
Her mother pulled a scrap of paper from her purse, eyes scanning it in the dim streetlight. "We walk five blocks," she said softly, pointing. "She lives behind the old central market."
Luna nodded.
They walked in silence, navigating cracked sidewalks, the weight of what they'd done clinging to every step. Louis kept looking over his shoulder, flinching at every siren, every sudden horn. Luna squeezed his hand tighter.
Finally, they reached a crumbling compound tucked behind a row of rusting shops. A metal gate creaked open, revealing a tired little yard and a weather-worn building with peeling paint.
Her aunt lived on the second floor. She opened the door almost instantly, wrapping Luna's mother in a tight embrace that spoke of years of pain and distance.
"Oh, Adiza…" her aunt whispered. "When I saw your message, I feared the worst."
"You weren't wrong," Luna's mother said with a sad smile.
Inside, the apartment was neat but cramped. A single room with a mattress, a tiny stove, and clothes folded in stacked crates. A child's backpack hung by the door. Two others already slept on the floor in a corner—her aunt's youngest.
"I would take you all in," her aunt said, pouring water into cups, "but we barely fit as it is. You can see…"
She didn't need to explain further.
Her mother nodded, swallowing the sting. "Of course. I understand."
"I made a call. There's a small place just a few streets from here. A little hotel—not fancy, but clean. I told the manager you're family."
Luna tried to hide the weight pressing down on her shoulders. "Thank you, Auntie."
Her aunt looked at her closely, her voice gentler now. "You've grown into a woman of strength. I can see it in your eyes. You've come through fire."
Luna gave a tired smile, but her eyes were hollow.
It was nearly midnight when they arrived at the hotel. The sign flickered weakly above the door: Sun Haven Lodge. The receptionist barely looked up as they were handed a room key and told they'd need to pay for the week upfront in the morning.
The room was small—two beds pushed together, a cracked window, and a squeaky fan. But to Luna, it felt like a palace.
Louis collapsed on the mattress, curled up like he hadn't slept in years.
Their mother sat quietly by the window, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes staring at nothing.
Luna stood in the doorway for a moment, watching them both.
They had no plan.
No job.
No home.
Just a suitcase, a brother with tired eyes, a mother broken by love, and a girl who still wanted to be a doctor even if the world had told her that dream had died. But they were free. And for now, that was enough.
It had been just three days since they arrived in Agauzu.
Three days of surviving on small meals and hope. Three days of trying to believe that a better life was waiting just around the corner.
And then, Louis stopped breathing.
It started as a cough, the kind Luna had seen a dozen times before—but it didn't stop. His chest tightened. His lips turned pale. The wheeze tore through him, panicked and raw, and they had no inhaler—nothing.
They rushed him to the emergency room in a cab they couldn't afford.
Everything else was a blur.
Now Luna stood in the cold, sterile hallway of the city hospital, her shirt damp with sweat, dust on her shoes, and blood drained from her face. Her mother had fainted when the doctor delivered the news about Louis, collapsing right there on the floor beside the vending machine.
Now both of them were in different hospital rooms.
Luna sat alone outside, hands shaking in her lap.
Please be okay, Louis… please...
The door creaked open, and a middle-aged doctor stepped out. His white coat fluttered slightly with the air-conditioning.
"Miss…" he began gently. "Your brother is stable, but he's in serious condition. He has more than just asthma. We found signs of a congenital heart condition. He'll need surgery soon. It's not optional."
Luna's throat went dry. "How much?"
The doctor hesitated. "You're looking at close to three hundred thousand for the first round of surgery. Possibly more, depending on recovery."
She barely had twenty in her pocket.
"And your mother…" the doctor continued.
Luna turned sharply toward him. "What about her?"
He looked down, gently folding the chart in his hand. "It wasn't just stress that caused her to collapse. Tests show a blockage in her coronary artery. She suffered a mild heart attack—very mild—but it's a warning. She won't survive another one."
Luna shook her head, lips trembling. "No, no, please…"
"She needs surgery, too," the doctor said quietly. "Sooner rather than later."
Luna felt her body break.
She pressed her back to the wall, slid down to the floor, and buried her face in her hands.
Everything was unraveling.
Her family had barely escaped hell, and now fate was clawing them back with sharper teeth.
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't cry. She could only sit there, frozen in the weight of the impossible.
That's when she heard the voice.
"Are you okay?"
Luna looked up, blinking through tears. A woman stood nearby, dressed in pale scrubs. Tall, elegant, with perfect posture and eyes that held too many stories.
Amalia Montenegro.
She had just come off her break, her shift badge still clipped to her chest. The hospital's fluorescent lights gave her the appearance of someone from another world.
For a moment, Luna said nothing.
"I'm sorry," Amalia added softly. "You don't have to answer that. I just… saw you, and—"
"They're dying," Luna said suddenly. The words came from somewhere deep, almost choking her. "My brother… my mother… and I can't help them."
Her shoulders began to shake, the grief finally crashing over her in a tidal wave.
"I'm so sorry," Amalia said, crouching slowly beside her. "Is there anything I can do?"
Luna laughed bitterly, wiping her face. "Unless you've got a million dollars hiding in those scrubs, then no."
Amalia didn't laugh. Her eyes stayed on Luna, searching, understanding.
She knew this kind of grief. It wasn't the same, but it came from the same place. The kind where the world moved on and left you screaming quietly in a room no one else could see.
Amalia swallowed hard.
She didn't know this girl. Not her name. Not her story. But something about her voice, her eyes, her helpless strength… it gripped her in a way she didn't expect.
"I'll stay with you," she said gently. "If that's okay. Just until someone comes."
Luna nodded slowly, too tired to pretend she was fine.
They sat there on the floor together, two women from different worlds—both broken, both stranded in their own way—sharing silence in a hospital hallway under the flickering lights of fate.