The night air was cool against Sera's skin as she walked home, her footsteps echoing through the nearly empty streets. The station's artificial sky had dimmed to a dusky purple, simulating late evening, and the usual crowd had thinned to a few stragglers and the occasional maintenance drone.

She replayed the conversation with Mira in her head, her thoughts churning.

Going back to the place that turned me into a fetishist's wet dream. Just to save some other girls from becoming the same thing.

She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. A passing man glanced her way, his eyes lingering on her curves before he quickly looked away. She ignored him. She'd gotten used to the stares by now.

There's no way I'd want to end up like Tit Girl or Ass Girl. No way in hell.

She thought of them—the woman trapped in the hallway, her rear swollen to the point of immobility, lying on her stomach, being fed by expedition teams like some kind of grotesque princess in a tower. And the other one, carrying her breasts in her arms, unable to stand without toppling forward.

Sera looked down at her own chest. Heavy. Cumbersome. But manageable. She could still walk. Still fit through doors. Still live her life, even if it was a life of broken lamps and burned skin and takeout containers.

She could still function.

Those women couldn't.

And the thought of joining them, of being worse than she already was, sent a cold spike of dread through her chest.

No, she told herself firmly. I'm not going back. I made it out. That's enough.

She walked faster, her hips swaying with the increased pace, her breasts bouncing against her ribs. The motion was familiar now, almost comfortable. Her body had become a thing she carried, a weight she managed.

By the time she reached her apartment, she'd convinced herself. She wasn't going back. She was done with the Cathedral. Done with heroics. Done with risking her body for a paycheck.

She closed the door behind her, locked it, and leaned against it, breathing in the familiar scent of her small home.

The fern looked at her from its safe corner, green and thriving.

"Don't judge me," she muttered, and shuffled off to bed.

---

The next two weeks passed in a blur of small adjustments and minor victories.

She learned to …