Chapter 68
By the time the dust settled into something that almost looked like order, the compound had become a map of small, stubborn routines. People moved with intention: patrols left at precise moments, children were shepherded into safe rooms before dark, the training yard was filled with wolves running drills that were less about honing skill and more about making motion familiar again. Each repetition was a prayer disguised as muscle memory. The ledger had fractured the town’s comfortable arrogance; arrests had been made; reputations had been gutted. But a thing that had been sown over decades does not disappear with a single burn. We learned a hard lesson over those rattling weeks: victory could be bought back in blood. When men are stripped of the safety money gave them, they will lash out.
- Writer
