Six more months, and “normal” stopped feeling like a costume they were trying on.It still didn’t fit perfectly.It probably never would.But it chafed less.The main sanctuary—a converted warehouse three districts over—buzzed with the kind of energy Lys had once associated only with staging grounds before a raid.Now, it was different.Chaotic.Loud.Alive.She stood on the mezzanine, hands on the railing, watching.Below, in what had once been an open cargo bay, life unfolded in fast, overlapping scenes.In one corner, a group of ex‑Sirens sat in mismatched chairs around a long table, laptops open, arguing over network security protocols for a small NGO that had hired them as consultants Their voices rose and fell, sharp, technical, animated.Near the back, Kora ran drills with a handful of residents in a roped‑off area—basic self‑defense moves, nothing like the lethal choreography Lys had been taught, but enough to make sure no one here ever felt entirely helpless again.In the mid
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