It started as a drizzle.
By midnight, it became a steady, whispering rain.
Emmanuel noticed it when droplets began tapping against the broken ceiling.
At first, he felt relief.
Water meant survival.
But then he remembered something—something from school, from documentaries.
Nuclear fallout.
He rushed outside, just enough to see it.
The rain shimmered strangely under the dim glow of burning debris.
Ash mixed with water, forming a gray, oily sludge.
He stuck his hand out—just for a second.
The droplets stung.
Not like acid.
Like tiny needles.
He pulled back instantly.
“Damn…”
His heart raced.
He dragged a broken shelf to block the opening above him.
The rain intensified.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Each drop a silent threat.
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