Mina didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until the screen refreshed.
She'd been walking past the payroll kiosk on autopilot, already mentally reorganizing her afternoon tasks, when the notification caught her peripheral vision.
WAGE VAULT — MONTHLY DEPOSIT CONFIRMED
She stopped mid-step.
Not because it was unexpected.
Because it wasn't.
Her name sat there calmly at the top of the screen. The date. The amount. Clean, exact, untouched by deductions or warnings. No red flags. No pending reviews. No footnotes that meant this isn't really yours.
Mina stared at the number longer than she needed to.
It didn't spike her pulse the way the first one had. That one had felt unreal, like a clerical error that would correct itself overnight. This one felt… deliberate.
The system hadn't changed its mind.
"Don't worry," a voice said beside her. "It doesn't disappear if you look away."
Mina turned. Lira was leaning against the wall, arms folded, expression sharp with amusement.
"I wasn't—" Mina stopped, then exhaled. "Okay. I was checking."
Lira smiled like she understood that sentence a little too well. "Second month does that. First paycheck feels like charity. Second one feels like confirmation."
Mina glanced back at the screen once more before pulling her card free. "I just needed to see it."
"That it was real?"
"That it was still mine."
Lira's smile softened. "Yeah. That part doesn't go away quickly."
Mina slipped the card into her pocket and turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" Lira asked.
"Back to work. I still have—"
"No, you don't."
Mina frowned. "I absolutely do."
Lira stepped into her path. "You've just triggered the Paycheck Rule."
"The what."
"The Paycheck Rule," Lira repeated patiently. "Second paycheck means you don't go straight back to being invisible."
Mina stared at her. "That's not a rule."
"It's not written," Lira agreed. "But it's enforced socially."
"I don't remember agreeing to—"
"You don't have to," Lira said brightly. "You just have to fail at escaping."
Mina opened her mouth to argue, then noticed Tomas at the far end of the corridor. He glanced at them, gave Lira a look that was one part warning and one part amusement, and kept walking.
Lira grinned. "See? Reinforcements."
Mina sighed. "You planned this."
"Obviously."
The staff lounge felt different in the afternoon.
Not louder, looser. Jackets were draped over chair backs. Shoes kicked off under tables. Someone had put music on, low and steady, the kind you didn't have to think about.
Mina hesitated near the doorway.
Lira nudged her forward. "Sit. You're not hosting. You're not explaining yourself. You're just here."
Rhea was already seated with a cup of tea, posture relaxed but watchful. Nessa occupied a corner chair with a book she hadn't turned the page of in ten minutes. A few others drifted in, faces Mina recognized from passing shifts, now stripped of their professional distance.
A woman Mina vaguely recognized slid a glass toward her. Juice. Cold.
"Second month?" she asked.
Mina nodded.
"Congratulations," the woman said simply.
No irony. No weight. Just fact.
"Thanks," Mina replied, surprised by how easily it came out.
Conversation flowed around her in pieces, work complaints that didn't sound afraid, jokes about audits, exaggerated groans about inventory cycles.
"You're quiet," Keon said from across the table. "Not a criticism. Just making sure you're not planning to vanish."
Mina shook her head. "I don't really have anywhere else to go."
No one looked uncomfortable when she said it.
"That's allowed," Keon replied. "Helix is a decent place to pause."
Lira lifted her glass. "To pausing."
Several glasses followed.
Mina raised hers a second later.
She felt it then, that subtle warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with the room or the drink. It was the absence of calculation. The absence of waiting for something to be taken away.
Belonging, she realized, didn't announce itself. It just stopped asking for justification.
When the lounge thinned and people drifted back to assignments, Lira leaned closer.
"So," she said. "What are you doing with it?"
"With…?" Mina asked.
"Your money," Lira said. "The part you didn't lock away like a survival instinct."
Mina thought about it. "I don't know yet."
"That's fine," Lira said. "But promise me you'll do something. Even if it's stupid."
Mina almost smiled.
Back in her room that night, Mina opened her Wage Vault again.
The number hadn't changed.
She routed part of it into savings. Another portion into education credits. Careful. Measured. When she finished, there was still enough left that her chest didn't tighten.
That was new.
She stared at the remaining balance for a long moment, then closed the interface without spending it.
Tomorrow, she would decide.
For tonight, it was enough to know one simple thing:
The money hadn't vanished.
And neither had she.