Those Who Chose to Be Angry
Anger arrived after hunger learned its limits.
It did not shout at first. It gathered. It watched who ate and who waited. It memorized names and reasons and decided, slowly, that knowing why did not make loss lighter.
Cassian felt it before it spoke. He moved through the basin with a care that bordered on apology, listening more than recording. "There is tension," he said quietly. "Not panic. Direction."
Lucien did not look away from the ridge. "Toward whom."
Cassian hesitated. "Toward you."
I nodded. "Good."
Lucien turned sharply. "Good."
"Yes," I replied. "Anger that names a face is safer than anger that searches for one."
The first confrontation came near the central fire.
A group of laborers stepped forward together, shoulders tight, eyes bright with exhaustion. They did not shout. They did not threaten. They spoke with the precision of people who had decided what they wanted to say.
"You told us to record," the one in front said. "We did."
