The next morning passed in its usual rhythm. Iyisha stood at the front of the classroom, her voice steady as she guided the students through their lessons. The low hum of the lights filled the room, so ordinary it had become part of the silence.
Then, without warning, the current snapped off. The hum vanished, the bulbs blinked dark, and the room fell into a heavy quiet.
The students shifted in their seats, some glancing toward the windows, others drumming their pencils against the desks. Iyisha raised a hand for calm.
"It will come back," she said softly. "It always does."
And usually it did. Sometimes in a few minutes. Sometimes in ten.
But an hour passed. She tried to continue, voice carrying in the dim room, the students straining to see their pages. Their words felt thinner without the light.
Then the announcement came, sharp and crackling through the old speaker in the corner of the room.
"All residents, report to the hall immediately."
