Elsewhere in California, the ground had barely stopped trembling.
Even after the main earthquake, the aftershocks were still coming — relentless, unending.
Mid-March sunlight filtered weakly through a haze of concrete dust and smoke.
A row of aging apartment buildings… structures that had stood for decades, now sagged inward, as if too tired to keep standing.
Chunks of brick and shattered glass were scattered across cracked pavement like fallen memories.
People stumbled into the streets in light jackets, disoriented and afraid.
Some were bleeding, others crying as they clawed at the rubble with bare hands.
A teenager pulled desperately at a mangled railing.
An older man clutched his ribs, leaning against a tilted car and coughing into the dust.
Somewhere, someone was screaming names into the chaos — but no one was answering.
Zero, Mina, and Jonathan stood at the edge of what had once been a three-story building.
Now, it was just a broken heap of concrete and twisted steel.
