"Lines on the Map"
The rain came in the early hours before dawn.
Not a storm—just steady, soaking rain that turned the yard to dark earth and made the generators hum a little deeper under the added humidity. By morning, the air felt clean, metallic, and new.
Emily stood at the window watching it bead along the fencing.
"Good for the soil," she murmured.
"Bad for the perimeter," Chandler replied, already lacing his boots.
Mud meant tracks. Tracks meant risk.
He leaned down to kiss her temple before heading out. "I'll be back before breakfast."
She caught his sleeve gently. "Be careful." She said.
"Always." He replied to her.
Outside, the base moved with purpose. Rain checks were routine now—inspect the gates, verify the outer wire, confirm no erosion along the south trench. Mara l
