THE MORNING AFTER THE RIDGE
Construction was paused by unanimous agreement and private heartbreak.
No one called it that in the minutes.
Officially, the site was under "temporary strategic review following identified narrative targeting vulnerability."
Unofficially, all three of us stood on the ridge at dawn staring at chalk lines that now felt more exposed than hopeful.
The survey stakes were still there.
The trench markers.
The outline of a future kitchen.
The room with no civic purpose.
The place where life had dared to become specific.
And now the Editor knew.
Of course he knew.
I stood with my coat collar up against the morning wind and watched workers dismantle the temporary survey table. No one spoke for a long time.
Mira finally broke the silence.
"If we put guards on it, it becomes a fort."
"Yes," I said.
"If we leave it open, it becomes bait."
"Yes."
