The first alarm was still cycling when the second explosion hit.
This one wasn't distant. It came from the eastern residential wing — a concussive crack that Bright felt in his back teeth before he heard it, followed by a low structural groan that had no business coming from a building that had stood for years. Dust sifted from the corridor ceiling in thin curtains. Somewhere in the direction of the dormitories, something heavy fell.
Then the screaming started.
It wasn't panic laced screaming. That came later. This was the specific register of pain — immediate, involuntary, the sound a person makes before they've had time to decide how to respond to what's happened to their body.
"That's residential east," Adam said. He had his back against the wall, the particular stillness of someone processing faster than they were moving. "Third or fourth floor by the sound displacement."
