The city did not celebrate it's survival.
It staggered through it.
By sunrise, emergency crews filled the plaza where stone had been torn upward like brittle paper.
Drones hovered overhead mapping structural damage while medical teams moved through the outer districts treating concussions, broken bones, and shock-induced collapses.
News feeds ran continuous loops of warped sky footage captured from dozens of angles.
The world had seen it.
There would be no burying this under classified briefings or selective edits.
Inside the containment facility beneath the plaza, tension pressed harder than the atmosphere had hours earlier.
Sarya sat on the edge of a diagnostic platform while a pale-blue projection scanned her internal frequency signature. The dried blood beneath her nose had been cleaned, but faint bruising shadowed her ribs and collarbone. Her hands still trembled slightly when she held them still long enough to notice.
