Morning came slow and golden.
The MOA Complex stirred earlier than usual—not from sirens or drills, but from the quiet rhythm of something long forgotten: peace.
The night before had been loud. Laughter. Music. The sounds of plastic chairs being dragged across tiles and empty cans clinking against tabletops. The faint crackle of speakers playing an old 2010s playlist still echoed faintly in the minds of those who had stayed late at the seaside plaza. Some were hungover—not from alcohol, but from joy.
By 7:00 AM, the mall's central atrium was already active. Volunteers swept confetti into neat piles while small drones hovered overhead, scanning for debris or damage. Food stall owners were rolling up their canvas awnings, and kids sat on the edge of the fountain with cups of leftover ice cream melting in their hands.
