Elsbeth.
The nursery wing of MoonHaven wasn't quiet.
It pulsed with life.
Children darted between reinforced stone columns and temporary bunk cots. Wooden toys clattered across the floors. Tiny shoes slapped against tile as small feet raced through open hallways echoing with laughter. There were no lessons today—just supervised play while the caretakers rotated out for rest.
But even in the chaos, the mood felt lighter than the last time I'd visited. There were smiles now. Laughter that didn't carry panic beneath it. The piping system embedded into the stone glistened faintly beneath the floors, water flowing like veins underfoot—ready to shield them all.
"How many more arrived this week?" I asked the nearest caretaker, a broad-shouldered woman with kind eyes and a linen apron stained with jam.
"Another dozen," she said. "Mostly from the 5th and 9th packs. No injuries. Just scared and exhausted."
