“That was your last one,” Dila said quietly. “You said so.”
“I want you to find her,” Dila replied. “However you have to.” dila and foxy di
“Where are you going?” Dila asked.
That’s how Dila found herself lying on a stained mattress in a backroom, electrodes glued to her temples, while Foxy Di’s fingers hovered over a neuro-interface that looked like a music box made of teeth. “That was your last one,” Dila said quietly
Foxy Di pointed to the corner of the room. There, curled up and sleeping peacefully, was Mira. Her clothes were torn, her hair matted, but she was breathing. Real. Returned. “That was your last one