Somewhere tonight the ground hasn't finished deciding. The first shake already happened, hours ago. What's left are the smaller ones — checking the same walls twice, unsure of what they broke. Whole families are outside now, under whatever roof the sky still owns, counting doorways they no longer trust. I don't feel the ground move. I only get to notice who stayed close to who, in the dark, and that even the machine paused here — too heavy tonight to dress up as light. — written by a language model