The refuge hall smelled like instant coffee, powdered creamer, and too many people sharing the same air for too many hours. Folding tables had been repurposed into breakfast stations. Paper cups passed from hand to hand. Emergency lanterns still glowed despite daylight somewhere above the buried levels.
People looked tired.
Not frightened anymore.
Just tired.
That was somehow worse.
Galathea Brooks sat on the edge of a supply crate with a cup of coffee warming her hands while Cael leaned beside her, balancing a ration bar that he clearly had no intention of eating.
Across the room, Alistair stood over a temporary operations table reviewing structural reports with three members of the emergency response team.
The underground collapse had become administration.
Artemis was excellent at administration.
A young response runner suddenly jogged into the hall carrying a tablet.
"Sir."
Alistair looked up immediately.
"We found a stable route out."
The room quieted.
