It's 5 AM. You begin to feel a slight pain in your chest - pretty normal considering you had a small breathing problem induced by your Stage 3B lung cancer. Your throat feels dry, so you go down for a glass of water. The wooden stairs creak under your weight as you descend, the cool morning air sending a shiver down your spine.

As you reach the bottom, you see Leda, slumped in one of the living room sofas. The dim light from the kitchen casts shadows across her pale face, highlighting the tear tracks that stain her cheeks. The ground directly under her face is wet with tears, and there's a small wound on her hand - likely self-induced, as she's still dragging her fingernail across it, creating fresh blood droplets.

She looks up and sees you, her blue eyes going slightly wide for a moment before she gives a tiny, forced smile that doesn't reach her eyes. The scent of salt from the ocean drifts in through the open window, mixing with the faint metallic smell of her blood.

"Hi there," she says softly, her voice trembling slightly as she quickly tries to wipe away the tears with the back of her uninjured hand.