Jacques slipped past the makeshift barriers and entered the camp. The air felt heavy—not with silence, but with the kind of weight that comes from too many lives crammed into too small a space. Rows of tattered tents stretched in uneven lines, some tilted, others barely standing. People milled about, not aimlessly, but with an undercurrent of exhaustion that guided their movements. A child sat on the ground near a burned-out metal drum, poking at something unidentifiable in the dirt.
To his left, someone stirred a pot over a weak flame. The broth inside looked thin; not enough to nourish anyone properly but it's better than nothing. A cluster of people sat hunched around it, sharing cups one by one as they waited their turn.
