Dawn broke quietly over the base.
The fog that usually lingered after night rain had thinned, leaving the air cool and faintly damp. Generators hummed to life one after another, their steady rhythm blending with the distant sounds of people moving, talking, working. The base had learned to wake early. Crops needed tending, patrols needed rotation, children needed food before lessons. Life, stubborn and relentless, continued.
Xavier walked beside Alvin through the inner paths of the base, his steps measured, his posture straight. Since Alvin's return, he had been quieter in public, more focused, as if afraid that distraction itself might steal this reality away again. Alvin noticed it, of course. He noticed everything. But he did not comment.
They passed rows of makeshift greenhouses built from scavenged glass panels and reinforced plastic sheets. Inside, green struggled against brown. Some crops were healthy. Others were stunted, yellowed, or strangely twisted.
