Inside the lounge—
The woman stumbled forward as the impact hit.
Her footing gave out beneath her, legs folding as she hit the polished floor hard, one arm bracing instinctively while the other kept the child tight against her chest.
The boy didn't stir. His head lolled slightly with the motion, blood still seeping through the fabric pressed against him.
For a second—
She just stayed there.
Breathing.
Shaking.
Then she lifted her head.
And froze.
The contrast hit her all at once.
Outside had been ruin—fire, broken bodies, noise that never stopped.
Inside—
It was… untouched.
Almost.
The lounge stretched wide, open, built with the same wealth the rest of the tower carried. Clean lines, layered seating areas, low tables of dark glass, soft lighting set into the ceiling in rows. The floors reflected faint silhouettes where people moved, polished enough to mirror without glare.
There were marks.
