For two years, that had been enough.
The Marines came and went in waves with training rotations. They drank, they joked, sometimes they fought among themselves, and then they shipped out again. Clara simply kept the drinks coming, wiped down the counter, and let the noise flow past her like a river that had nothing to do with her life.
Most nights ended quietly.
But trouble has a way of arriving without announcing itself first.
On a Thursday evening in early autumn, at exactly 9:17 p.m., the front door swung open hard enough to make the bell above it clatter.