The scent of old paper and stale coffee clung to Jasmine Baxter's clothes, a constant reminder of the long hours she spent hunched over spreadsheets in the logistics department. Her cubicle, a cramped box nestled amidst a sea of identical ones, offered little respite from the hum of overworked air conditioning and the incessant chatter of colleagues. She adjusted her glasses, pushing a stray strand of red hair from her eyes, and sighed.

Another day, another stack of invoices. Her mother's medical bills, though never spoken of, were a heavy, invisible weight on her shoulders, pushing her to work harder, to endure the mundane, and to swallow the bitter taste of a life she hadn't chosen. Outside, the city shimmered under a harsh, unforgiving sun, its towering skyscrapers a stark contrast to the small, humble apartment she called home. Little did she know, the gilded cages of power were about to collide with her world, irrevocably changing its course.