And there it is again—that spark. That heat. That challenge.
Not fear.
Never fear.
“You’ll get them killed if this goes wrong,” she says quietly.
“Then it won’t go wrong.”
She studies me like she’s trying to decide whether I’m a liar or a fool.
Probably both.
Then she nods once and turns, instantly all business.
The transformation is something to see.
One moment furious woman ready to fight me with her bare hands. The next, battlefield doctor issuing crisp instructions, triaging children, choosing who can move, who gets the last antibiotics, who needs to be wrapped tighter against the cold night air.
I watch for half a second too long.
Miles catches it, because of course he does.
“You’re staring again,” he mutters.
“Shut up.”
He smirks. “You met her, what, ninety seconds ago?”
“Not the time.”
“Oh, it’s absolutely the time.”
I’d like to shoot him myself.
Instead, I move to the shattered window and scan the street. More vehicles. More men. The ridge won’t hold them long.
Lucas appears at my side. “North alley gives us the best shot. There’s a supply truck behind the grain house.”
“Drivable?”
“If not, Clay will make it drivable.”
Clay, overhearing, says, “I feel so seen.”
Within two minutes, we move.
Children wrapped in blankets.
Two mothers are coming with them.
Hannah and Stephen carrying medical packs.
Father Nabil refusing to stay behind until Lucas practically orders him back.
Olivia shoulders her own bag and reaches for a little boy with burns along one arm.
I take the child before she can.
