The relentless clatter of plates and the persistent hum of conversation were the constant companions of Mara's workday. Sweat beaded on her brow as she navigated the crowded diner, a tray laden with orders balanced precariously in her hand. "Mara, table seven! Move faster!" her manager's sharp voice cut through the din, a familiar sting that Mara had learned to endure. She hurried, her legs aching, but a small, determined part of her refused to break. Three months in this city, and the diner was still her world, a world of ceaseless motion and simmering frustration. She glanced at the imposing building across the street, the Fernández Corporation, a silent, gleaming monument to the life she aspely craved. "Coming!" she called back, pushing aside the weariness, pushing aside the gnawing loneliness that sometimes threatened to overwhelm her.