Albert checked his watch. "We've got ten minutes before intel pulls us. Let's use it."
He turned away from the main yard and headed toward a quieter side of the base, where smaller, simpler buildings stood. These were newer, less polished. Wooden fences. Laundry lines. Children's voices.
Lyris's ears caught the sound first.
She slowed. Her eyes focused.
"Those voices…" she whispered.
They turned a corner.
A small residential section opened up before them. Prefab housing units lined the lane—simple, rectangular structures, nothing like Atlas barracks. They had front steps. Small fenced yards. Toys scattered in the dust. Little gardens still struggling to grow.
And people.
Not soldiers.
Villagers.
A woman carrying a bundle of cloth paused when she saw them. Her eyes went wide. Then recognition flashed.
"Lyris?"
Lyris stopped dead.
"Marla?" she breathed.
The woman hurried forward, nearly dropping her bundle in the process. A child's head poked out—sleepy, confused.
