A day later, Falmouth looked like a different city.
The fear that once hung over the streets had started fading. Merchants reopened their stalls near the central plaza while civilians cautiously returned to normal routines. Wagons rolled through the roads again. Bakers reopened ovens. Blacksmiths hammered metal beneath the morning sunlight.
For the first time in months, the city no longer felt like it was waiting to die.
Atlas infantry still occupied the walls.
Machine guns remained mounted along the battlements overlooking the southern approaches while armed riflemen continued patrol rotations through the city. But now, instead of fear, the civilians looked at them differently.
Respect.
Sometimes even awe.
Because stories spread quickly.
Especially after what happened two nights ago.
