After the heli-carrier disappeared beyond the gray horizon, the square did not erupt into chaos as one might expect. There was no riot, no shouting, no open grief. Instead, the people of Sector 11 began dispersing quietly, one by one, like shadows retreating at dusk.
Two figures remained at the center longer than the others— a young man and his father. Their faces were pale, eyes swollen with tears they did not dare shed openly while the Collector still stood there. Now that he was gone, the son knelt beside the old woman's body, his hands trembling as he helped lift her.
She had been the one who spoke for them.
Now she was just weight.
The father wrapped her in a worn blanket. Together, they carried her away through the silent street, heads lowered beneath grief and humiliation.
Tansy watched until they turned the corner.
"I have something to do," her mother said quietly beside her. "Go home. Look after your sister."
Tansy nodded.
