The aftermath of collapse isn’t loud.

It’s quiet.

Unsettlingly quiet.

Like walking through a house after a storm and realizing the silence isn’t peace — it’s absence.

The next morning arrived without ceremony.

No thunder.

No breaking news banners.

No dramatic turning point.

Just light slipping through windows like nothing had happened.

But something had.

And the echoes were still there.

Ethan woke before the sun.

Not because of alarms.

Because sleep had become shallow terrain.

Easy to leave.

Hard to return to.

He lay still for a long time, staring at the ceiling, the quiet of the apartment pressing in from every direction.

The city hadn’t woken yet.

But...