Don stepped out of the briefing and paused beneath the floodlights.
The compound still looked like a machine running past its limits.
Soldiers crossed between tents carrying crates and folded stretchers.
A helicopter descended somewhere beyond the perimeter wall, rotor wash kicking dust and loose paper across the area.
Nothing about the night had softened. The only thing changing was the people inside it.
A few meters ahead, his assigned unit had already begun gathering near a row of stacked supply crates marked with orange hazard tape.
Seven people total. Four civilians. Three officers.
The divide between the groups was obvious without anyone acknowledging it.
The civilians stood slightly apart, bodies held tighter, eyes moving more often. Not hostile. Just uncertain.
They looked like people still adjusting to the idea that they were voluntarily walking back into Santos City after barely escaping it hours earlier.
