The words lingered long after the sound had faded, not a threat exactly, but close enough to feel like one. From his porch, Walter could see the change taking shape even before a single shovel hit the dirt. The grass was trampled, the horizon cluttered with equipment. His quiet corner of the world was turning into a staging ground.
At first, he tried to ignore it. He shut his windows to block the sound, moved his easel to the back room, and drew only at night. But the noise found its way in. Engines idled for hours. Backup alarms beeped in bursts. Metal clanged like gunfire when they unloaded supplies.