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For illustrative purposes only
That morning, she moved quickly, stepping around shattered glass and rusted scraps, her fingers separating plastic and wire with practiced ease. She had already collected two bottles and a dented strip of aluminum—enough for a small piece of bread if luck stayed with her.
Then she heard it.
It was soft. Fragile. Like someone struggling to breathe through something tight and suffocating.
Lupita stopped cold.
It was life.
Slowly, cautiously, she followed it. Around broken furniture. Past stacked doors and ruined cabinets. Until she found the source.
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