The faction building settled into evening rhythm. Some recruits headed to the training hall for voluntary practice. Others gathered in the common area for meals and conversation. The constant activity that characterized the faction's first weeks had given way to something more sustainable—people actually living here rather than just preparing for the next crisis.
Noah found himself in one of the hallways, heading toward his quarters, when voices stopped him.
"—really fought a four-horn?"
He turned. Three recruits stood near the equipment storage—Chen, Torres, and another newer member whose name Noah was still learning. They looked nervous but determined, like they'd been daring each other to approach him.
"Yeah," Noah said simply.
"Like, actually fought one?" Torres pressed. "Not just saw it from a distance or helped evacuate while others handled it?"
