The fire crackled softly, sending flickering shadows dancing across the worn faces of the survivors. Hana sat with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her fingers clenching the fabric of her pants as if grounding herself. The warm glow of the flames illuminated her delicate features, but her eyes remained distant, lost in memories she hadn’t fully processed yet.
"Yumi and I are illustrators," she began, her voice quieter than usual, almost fragile. "We create artwork mostly for children's books. But we also sell graphic designs online. It’s freelance work, so we don’t belong to any big company.”
Silence settled over the group. The others watched her, listening intently, yet no one spoke. The explanation was simple, ordinary—completely unrelated to the horrors they had faced on thi
