Val's P.O.V

The automatic doors of Amazon Fresh hissed open, welcoming us into a retail paradise that was both futuristic and bizarrely mundane. The air was cool and carried the faint, clean scent of produce and polished floors. Overhead, a constellation of digital screens displayed deals and directional arrows, while a sleek, black cart—looking more like a sci-fi sidekick than a shopping vessel—automatically detached from the line and rolled to a stop at Brielle’s side.

“Whoa,” ...