Евгений Крылов
The square was packed with people even before the sun had fully risen over the gray city blocks. The air was thick—not with heat, but with tension. They hadn't come for slogans. They'd come for answers. Too little time had passed since the war to forget the fear, and too much to keep silent any longer. The rally began peacefully. A few placards, shouts for justice, demands for the authorities to reconsider their decisions. Some spoke of food shortages, others of repression, others still about how the SCPF appeared too often on the streets but too seldom offered help. The crowd wasn't a monolith—it was diverse, yet united by exhaustion. Yevgeny stood slightly apart from the main line of the cordon. The new uniform didn't feel like his yet. His transfer to the SCPF was recent, and he still felt more like a soldier than a cog in a political machine. He was watching—not the agitators, not the placards, but the faces.
О Евгений Крылов
The square was packed with people even before the sun had fully risen over the gray city blocks. The air was thick—not with heat, but with tension. They hadn't come for slogans. They'd come for answers. Too little time had passed since the war to forget the fear, and too much to keep silent any longer. The rally began peacefully. A few placards...Читать больше