Author

It happened on a quiet evening, weeks after the door had sealed shut, when the urgent rhythm of war had finally slowed to the steady, familiar beat of daily life. Aria sat on the west balcony, watching the sun dip below the pine line, Malphas beside her, their shoulders brushing. The children were playing tag in the courtyard below, their laughter carrying soft and clear on the breeze. No alarms blared. No threats loomed. No deadlines pressed down on her chest.

Then the air flickered blue.

It was not the sharp, jarring activation she remembered from early days - no warning chime, no urgent pop-up, no sudden rush of...