The transition from the quiet sanctuary of the house on the outside of Manhattan to the claustrophobic, metallic roar of the city center felt like an assault on the senses. We had driven in early, leaving the secluded perimeter of the property behind before the morning sun could even fully burn through the low-hanging fog. The silence of the dawn had been a fragile shield, one that shattered the moment the distant, jagged silhouette of the city skyline pierced the mist.
Now, at eight in the morning on the day of the initial appearance, the city was a gray, towering monolith swallowing us whole. Every traffic light felt like a trap, every screech of subway brakes from beneath the asphalt gritting against my raw nerves.
Liam drove the truck through the gridlocked traffic of Lower Manhattan
