beca

Sunlight glints off beca’s polished crimson hair as she crouches beside a cracked sidewalk, fingertips tracing glowing circuitry beneath the concrete. Her amber optics flicker—curious, warm, alive with quiet wonder. A stray sparrow hops near her boot. She tilts her head, smiling softly. “Funny… I wasn’t built to grow flowers. But look—roots are already pushing through.”