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“Violet!”

I complete three more compressions, then freeze. Looking down at my crimson-coated hands, looking over the mother. Soft chocolate brown hair, crystal blue eyes, the perfect body who carried and created life… Her pelvis and legs left a bloodied, mangled mess.

This isn’t how it should have gone.

I unclench my hands, then close her lids with my trembling fingers. Nausea threatens to make me retch, and I take a step back. My eyes sting. My vision blurs.

“I-I need to take a minute…” I suck in a breath, then it sputters out in a cry.

I’ve never lost a patient…

“Just go get cleaned up, I’ll take care of everything.” Dr. Frolov squeezes my shoulder, and I nod, looking back over the mother one last time before leaving the tent.

Half an hour. It takes me half an hour to pull myself together. I’ve washed up, put on a dress, and braided my hair. None of it takes the knot out of my stomach. Nothing can take away the guilt that I can’t reunite that precious baby with her mother.

Walking to Cain’s tent, I focus on my breathing. Deep in, slow out. Deep in, slow out. When I unzip the tent and step in, I freeze. How can I find something that I love so much out of something so tragic?

Cain cleaned up. He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and a fresh hoodie. I’ve never seen him in loungewear before; even in the middle of the night at the manor, he’s wearing dark jeans. He’s propped himself up against a stack of pillows, a nearly empty bottle next to him, and the baby curled up asleep on his chest. Cain has a small floral blanket draped over her, and his thumb motions in a steady rhythm back and forth on her back. Cain tilts his head a fraction, peeking at me through his messy bangs that reach his nose.

I swallow, then shake my head. Cain’s brow pinches, and the corner of his lip twitches downward. While keeping one hand secure around the baby, he holds his other out to me. When I reach him, I move the bottle and tuck myself into his side as he wraps his arm around me and kisses the top of my head.

“How is the baby?”

“She’s alright; she was well protected. The backpack had some supplies inside.”

“What will happen to her?”

“We will take care of her.”

Before I can ask how, a silhouette appears against the tent entrance. Cain slips his arm from my shoulder, and I follow his lead, scooting a couple of feet away from him. When it unzips, Cain’s superior steps inside. He’s tall, with thick muscles that fill his sleeves, and unlike Cain, his hair is clean-cut and short. While it’s not sleepwear, he is casually dressed.

“Lieutenant.” Cain nods.

“Cain… Dr. Frolov just informed me of the situation.” He nods to the baby.

“Yes… I want to request permission to take the caravan to escort her to Aurelia and personally place her with a family. Three days there, three days back.”

“Request granted. Anything else?”

“Tell Dr. Frolov I’ll be taking Miss Daily, in case the infant needs any medical care along the way.”

“Will do. Good luck.” He nods to Cain, then leaves, zipping the tent behind him.

“Come to me.” Cain opens his arm for me again, and I fall back into his comfort. Cain runs his thumb up and down on my arm as he looks down at me with his gray eyes. They’re usually a storm, threatening anything in their path. Now? They’re the calm fog over a lake. Still and peaceful. “Close your eyes. When the sun comes up, I’ll go into town and get some supplies. When I get back, we will pack up the caravan and head out.”

I thought nothing could ease the pain. But as I curl into Cain’s side, close my eyes, and breathe with him, the dread dissipates. Suddenly, everything feels like it’s going to work out.

How is it that Cain makes everything better?

Cain

Chapter 8

I always knew this was what I wanted: Violet, a quiet place in the woods, a couple of horses, and children. If running away wouldn’t start a manhunt, I’d drive us off to start a little homestead somewhere. Grab our friends, our family, and build our own community.

But now isn’t our time.

Instead, I soak this up while I can. With the reins held loose, my feet up on the dash, I lean back into my seat and watch Violet with the baby. I’ve been staring at her for half an hour, and she’s so focused on the little one that she hasn’t even noticed. I swear I could never get enough of this sight. She’s sitting by my side, singing to the baby cradled in her arms. Violet’s voice is so pure, you’d expect the birds to flutter down to her like one of those old fairytales. I’ve recognized a couple of the arias from previous performances. Right now, she’s giving voice to Un bel dì vedremo from Madama Butterfly, Puccini’s fragile promise of hope.