Sunlight poured through the wide industrial windows of the refurbished warehouse. Where once machines had groaned and sparks flew, now sunlight shimmered across polished concrete and rows of warm wooden desks.
The **Second‑Chance Foundation** was open.
Flora stood by the welcome board, watching a new intake of patients shuffle inside—teenagers, single mothers, quiet men with scars too deep for any scan. Most bore the same haunting label she had once carried: *post-trauma organ recipients*.
Ellis stepped beside her, clipboard in hand, sleeves rolled.
“First wave's checked in. Translation team's ready for the international cases."
“Any pushback from local regulators?"
“None. Your legal team is scarier than the last hurricane."
She smiled. “Good. Because we're not slowing down."
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