No One Looks Up

The crisis began with a human sound. Not an explosion, not a cosmic trumpet, but somebody begging in a language Kieran almost understood. Windows trembled in their frames and blue-white energy crawled over brickwork like living frost. A young woman, an old veteran, a runaway boy, or an exhausted nurse stood at the center of the damage with hands clenched around power no one had asked to receive. Around them moved armed specialists wearing clean masks and carrying equipment that belonged in laboratories, not neighborhoods. They were calm. That calm told Kieran more than any confession could have. They had done this before. Kieran recognized the pattern.