Mira grabbed her phone. No service. Landline: dead. She looked out her apartment window. The harbor was glass-still, the moon high and sharp. No warning sirens. No evacuation orders. But she'd written the protocol herself. quckduckprep wasn't about waiting for official alerts. It was about trusting the pattern when the pattern screamed.
22 minutes.
By the time they reached the rail yard overpass, water was already swallowing the street signs behind them. The last thing Mira saw before the lights went out across the city was the time on her watch: 4:09 AM. quckduckprep