If Mina was being honest with herself, the strangest part of Helix wasn't the wealth.
It was the absence of fear.
She realized it slowly, over the course of days, the way you notice pain only after it's gone. There was no moment of revelation, no sudden relief. Just the quiet understanding that she was no longer bracing for impact every time she entered a room.
No one here shouted her name from across hallways.
No one grabbed her wrist to stop her.
No one watched her with the expectation that she owed them something.
She woke when she woke. She slept when she slept. Her meals arrived regularly, without bargaining or humiliation attached to them. Even the work, steady, predictable, almost gentle, did not demand pieces of her she could not afford to give.
For the first time in her life, Mina was not measuring her days in exits.
That realization unsettled her more than danger ever had.
One evening, she caught herself humming quietly as she folded linens in the staff laundry room. The sound startled her. She stopped immediately, listening as if someone would punish her for it.
No one did.
Rhea passed the doorway, glanced in, and said nothing. Tomas walked by later, expression unchanged. Nessa nodded at her once in the library wing, as if Mina's existence no longer required evaluation.
Belonging crept in quietly.
Lira, of course, noticed.
"You're settling," she declared one afternoon, stealing an extra fruit cup from the kitchen cart like it was her right. "I can tell."
Mina didn't look up from her inventory sheet. "You say that like it's a crime."
"It is," Lira said with delight. "Because once you settle, you start imagining things. And then you get ambitious."
Mina paused. "Is ambition bad here?"
Lira's grin softened. "No. It's just… dangerous. Not because Helix punishes ambition. Because the outside world does."
That night, Mina sat by her window and watched the courtyard. The fountain ran endlessly, its sound soothing rather than intrusive. Artificial moonlight filtered through the trees, casting soft shadows that never felt threatening.
She thought about the future in small increments.
Saving enough to enroll in a course.
Learning skills that weren't just about survival.
Maybe one day choosing where she lived instead of accepting what was given.
The idea felt fragile. Precious.
She guarded it fiercely.
It wasn't until the end of the second week that the first real disruption returned.
She was crossing one of the inner corridors late in the afternoon, carrying a stack of documents back to administration, when the air changed.
Mina slowed instinctively.
The corridor looked empty, glass walls reflecting greenery and light, but her skin prickled the way it always did when attention brushed too close.
Footsteps sounded behind her.
Measured. Unhurried.
Mina stepped to the side automatically, lowering her gaze.
A man passed her.
She didn't look up. She didn't need to. The space around him felt different, charged, controlled, like the world adjusted itself to accommodate his presence. She caught a glimpse of dark fabric, polished shoes, and that same clean, sharp scent.
He didn't stop.
He didn't speak.
But as he passed, Mina felt something settle, like awareness touching her and moving on.
When the corridor returned to normal, she exhaled slowly.
That was a resident.
Later, when she mentioned it casually to Lira, the other woman only nodded.
"Yeah," Lira said. "You'll know when they're around."
"Does it get easier?" Mina asked.
Lira considered that. "You get used to it. But don't mistake 'used to it' for 'safe to be noticed.'"
Mina didn't reply, but the warning stayed.
That night, as she lay in bed, Mina realized something else.
For the first time in her life, she wasn't staying somewhere temporarily.
If she kept her head down.
If she worked.
If she followed the rules.
She could build something here.
The thought was terrifying.
And quietly, wonderfully hopeful.