Hope spent what felt like an eternity in the washroom.
The cold water had become his new best friend—a relief he wasn't willing to part with so soon.
For once, his mind wasn't racing, his thoughts weren't clouded with paranoia, and his body wasn't weighed down by exhaustion.
It was just him and the constant stream of cold water—washing away the grime, sweat, and filth of the outskirts and The Ashlands.
Eventually, though, he had to step out.
His fingers were starting to prune, and the air was too cold without the water running.
"Enough." He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair.
Hope dressed right there in the washroom.
His new clothes were combat-ready—a pair of sturdy trousers and a long-sleeved shirt that buttoned up at the neck.
The fabric felt different from anything he had worn before.
It was thick, reinforced, almost like it had been designed for military use.
The intricate patterns woven into the suit gave it an advanced, mechanical aesthetic, almost like it was part of a mech-related system.
And, of course, it was blue—which was to be expected.
Hope didn't care much for the color.
But he did appreciate that the outfit fit well, wasn't torn, and most importantly—was his.
After violently brushing his teeth—to the point where he was sure he had scrubbed off half his gums—he finally stepped out of the washroom, feeling refreshed for the first time in ages.
But as soon as he did—
He was met with a familiar sight.
The janitor was standing outside, waiting for him.
Hope stopped, blinking at her in mild surprise.
She didn't say much—just beckoned him forward with a slight nod, her movements as quick and precise as before.
With no other choice, Hope followed.
She led him through the winding halls, her pace fast and efficient.
Eventually, they arrived at a room.
It was simple.
A bed.
A table and a chair.
A mirror mounted on the wall.
That was it.
The janitor turned slightly, glancing at him as she spoke in her usual short, clipped tone—
"This will be your room for the night. Ascended Cara said I should bring you here."
Then, just as quickly as she had arrived—
She was gone, her footsteps fading down the hall before Hope could even fully register her words.
He didn't mind.
He had already grown accustomed to her minimal conversation and fast movements.
He stepped inside, letting the door close behind him.
Then he exhaled.
For the first time in forever, he had a room to himself.
A real bed.
Not a makeshift pile of rags in an abandoned building.
A table and chair.
Not a stolen crate or a dirty sidewalk.
And even a mirror—
He glanced at his reflection, pausing for a moment.
The face staring back at him was...
Different.
The filth was gone.
The exhaustion was still there, but less pronounced.
His eyes were still sharp, but they didn't look as hollow as before.
Hope stared for a long moment, then let out a small, amused breath.
"Well, I got a nice room."
He stepped forward, rolling his shoulders as he glanced around.
"What could be better than this?"