In Brigantine, another day broke beneath a sky as gray and suffocating as the mood in the streets.
The town had fractured completely. On one side stood Gaspar and the armed convicts who answered to him; on the other were the civilians, families, and weary survivors who wanted nothing more than to flee before the Boardwalk launched its retaliation. Everyone knew the final clash was rushing toward them, and those caught in the middle prayed only that they would not be crushed as collateral damage.
Outside, the atmosphere felt feral. Under Callighan's rule, weapons had been strictly regulated, kept out of the hands of the most volatile elements. Now, nearly every former inmate carried a rifle, shotgun, or blade. With armed convicts wandering freely, terror kept the town paralyzed. Doors remained bolted, curtains drawn, and women refused to cross their thresholds for even a single second.
