Rita fought the urge to ask, "Is what's outside the program good or bad?" She pressed down her curiosity and quelled the ripples of emotion stirring inside her.
The softness she felt toward L4327777 earlier seemed like a mere illusion, a wrong note played in a symphony. It was almost cruel—she had softened toward L4327777 because, at that moment, it was pure and flawless, like newly sprouted grass by the roadside, like freshly fallen snow. But now, L4327777 seemed more like a withered tree that had suddenly gained a sense of intelligence.
This triggered Rita's wariness.
She quickly brought the conversation back on track, asking, "How do I leave?"
L4327777 responded, "The dry well in the western corner of the market."
Rita's thoughts stirred. She fixed her gaze on L4327777, her tone still neutral and unreadable. "Isn't that the way to the smelting furnace?"