She settled into her room and looked out of the window
Then she felt it.
The unmistakable sensation of being watched.
She turned slowly toward the glass corridor outside.
A man stood on the garden path.
Tall. Black suit. Not staff. Not security. His presence was unmistakable in the way the space seemed to adjust around him. He wasn't staring openly at her window, but there was a stillness to him that told her he was aware, of the corridor, of movement, of her.
Their eyes met. Just briefly.
Mina's heart lurched. She looked away at once, every instinct screaming at her to retreat. When she glanced back, he was gone.
But the feeling didn't leave.
Somewhere in the Helix Residence, one of its residents now knew someone new had arrived.
And Mina Lovegood, who had survived her entire life by staying unseen, had just crossed into a world where being invisible might no longer be possible.
Mina woke the next morning expecting urgency.
Her body came out of sleep already tense, braced for noise, for voices raised too early, for the familiar pressure of having stayed somewhere too long. It took several slow seconds for her to realize that none of it was coming.
The room was quiet.
Not the brittle kind of quiet that followed arguments or the temporary silence before something went wrong, but a steady, controlled stillness. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows in a clean sheet, warming the edge of the bed and the floor beside it.
No one knocked. No one shouted. No one demanded anything from her.
Mina lay still, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the moment when the illusion would break.
It didn't.
She dressed in the staff uniform laid out neatly in her wardrobe. Everything fit. The fabric was soft but sturdy, designed for work without being demeaning. She pinned her hair back the way she always did when she wanted to disappear. She chose the plainest shoes. No shine. No sound.
On her desk lay a small envelope with her name printed neatly on the front.
Inside was a thin card and a note.
HELIX STAFF ID.
WAGE VAULT ACCESS ENABLED.
ORIENTATION: 08:00.
Mina turned the card over in her hand. It looked like something used to open doors and lock down futures.
She slipped it into her pocket and left.
The staff wing was already active. People moved with purpose, not panic. A man in maintenance overalls wheeled a cart past her and nodded once. A woman with a clipboard called out instructions with a calm voice. No one stared. No one evaluated her in that hungry way Mina had learned to recognize.
The dining hall smelled like food in a way that made her throat tighten.
Warm bread. Eggs. Fruit. Coffee. Real coffee.
The room was large, filled with long tables and soft light. Plates clinked. Cutlery scraped. People laughed quietly. Mina hesitated at the entrance, suddenly unsure of where to stand, what to take, how much was acceptable.
"You're going to freeze if you keep doing that."
The voice came from her left.
Mina turned to see a woman about her age balancing a tray already piled high. Hair in a messy bun. Eyes bright. The kind of expression that suggested silence made her uncomfortable.
"First day?" the woman asked.
Mina nodded. "Is it that obvious?"
The woman grinned. "You're standing like the floor might disappear if you step wrong. I'm Lira."
"Mina."
"Well, Mina," Lira said, nudging her forward gently, "rule number one here is eat when food is offered. It doesn't come with strings."
Mina wasn't sure she believed that, but she followed anyway.
Her plate felt unreal in her hands, warm bread, fruit, eggs. Things she hadn't had to choose between. She sat across from Lira and ate slowly at first, bracing herself for guilt, for someone to tell her she'd taken too much.
It never came.
Instead there was only warmth, spreading through her chest, loosening something she hadn't realized was clenched.
"You get used to it," Lira said, watching her with an understanding smile. "The safety, I mean. Takes a while for your body to catch up."
Mina looked down at her plate. "Does it ever feel real?"
Lira shrugged. "Most days. The other days you just pretend until it does."
They were interrupted by a woman in a navy blazer who moved like she owned the air around her. A supervisor. Her badge read MAREN.
"Mina Lovegood?" Maren asked.
Mina swallowed and stood. "Yes."
Maren's gaze flicked over her uniform, her posture, her hands. Professional. Not unkind. "Orientation in ten. Conference room C. Bring your ID."
Mina nodded. "Yes."
As Maren walked away, Lira leaned in and whispered, "She looks scary, but she's fair. Just don't lie to her."
"I don't lie," Mina said.
Lira made a face. "Everyone lies a little. You just… don't have to here. That's the point."
Orientation was quiet and thorough. Mina sat with a small group of new staff, two young men who looked freshly nervous, a woman in her thirties with tired eyes, and a guy who wouldn't stop tapping his foot.
Maren walked them through policy.
Helix existed to protect its residents. Staff existed to keep the machine running. Privacy wasn't just expected; it was enforced.
They signed confidentiality agreements. They were shown which corridors were restricted. They were told how to respond if residents addressed them.
Then Maren clicked to the compensation slide.
Mina paid attention immediately.
"Helix compensation is issued through the Wage Vault," Maren said. "You will receive your base wage weekly into your secure account. If you have no account, Helix creates one under your legal identity. Funds are accessible through card, biometric authorization, or payroll kiosk."
A man in the group raised his hand. "What about cash?"
Maren's expression didn't change. "Helix doesn't issue cash. Cash disappears. Cash gets stolen. Cash invites problems."
Mina understood that.
"Room and board is provided," Maren continued. "Meals are included. Medical coverage is included. Certain residents may require overtime coverage, which is compensated at a higher rate. Education credits can be earned through consistent performance, used for approved training modules."
Lira, who was sitting across the room as a volunteer mentor, winked at Mina like this was the part that mattered most.
Mina felt something shift inside her.
Pay that arrived reliably. Food that didn't need begging. A bed that didn't come with strings.
If she kept her head down and worked, she could dream again.
That night, Mina returned to her room with a printed schedule, a policy guide, and a staff handbook she read twice before sleeping.
For the first time in her life, she wasn't trying to escape tomorrow.
She was trying to build it.