Something inside Harper's chest cracked. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a quiet fracture, the kind that happens when you've been holding too much weight for too long and something finally gives.
Her eyes sharpened on the poster.
Not the beach. Not the alien male with his perfect jawline and his protective arm around the smiling woman.
The fine print at the bottom.
Small white text she'd never bothered to read before because it didn't matter, it was just another ad, just another impossible thing that had nothing to do with her life.
"SIGNING BONUS PAID UPON ACCEPTANCE. ALL RELOCATION EXPENSES COVERED."
Harper's pulse kicked against her throat.
Signing bonus.
The train swayed and she grabbed the rail tighter, her mind racing through calculations. How much was the bonus? Enough for rent? Enough to set Delilah up for a few months? Enough to?—
"Harper?" Delilah was watching her now, head tilted. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Harper pulled out her comm unit, hands steadier than they had any right to be. She aimed it at the poster, zoomed in on the fine print, captured the image. The small act felt significant. Like reaching out and grabbing something instead of just letting life happen to her.
"Oh my god." Delilah's eyes went wide. "Are you—are you thinking about signing up for that?"
Harper didn't answer. She was reading the fine print again, committing it to memory. Signing bonus on acceptance. Relocation covered. Contact information. Application process.
A way out.
"Harper, that's so romantic!" Delilah clutched her arm, bouncing. "Imagine marrying an alien warrior and having this whole adventure! Living on a space station! It's like something out of a movie!"
Romantic.
Right.
Harper let Delilah spin her fantasy. Easier than explaining the truth—that Harper didn't give a damn about romance or adventure or alien warriors. That she was drowning in twenty years of responsibility and poverty and she'd just spotted the only life raft in sight.
The signing bonus… it would give her breathing room.
She could be selfish.
For once in her life, she could choose herself.
"You'd be so good at it," Delilah was saying, words tumbling over each other. "You're so responsible and smart and you always know what to do. Some alien guy would be lucky to get you, and think about it—you'd get to travel, see new places, start over fresh. It's perfect!"
Harper's throat went tight. Start over fresh. Leave everything behind. No more counting tiles or darning blouses or lying awake at night doing math that never worked.
No more being the one who held it all together while everyone else got to fall apart.
"I mean, I could never do it," Delilah continued, oblivious. "I'd miss Earth too much, and can you imagine marrying some scaly alien? But you're braver than me. You always have been."
Brave.
The automated voice cut through the noise. "Approaching Station Forty-Seven. Doors opening on the right."
Their stop.
Harper shoved her comm unit in her pocket and moved toward the doors with the press of other passengers. Delilah followed, still chattering about alien warriors and romantic adventures and how exciting it all was.
The doors slid open. Harper stepped onto the platform, shouldered through the crowd, breathed air that tasted less like recycled desperation.
