For every person in this truck except herself.
“You still with me?” I asked.
She nodded too quickly. “I’m fine.”
A lie.
Small.
Automatic.
The little girl clung tighter to her shirt.
Olivia smoothed trembling fingers through the child’s hair anyway.
“I’m doing everything I can,” she said quietly.
“I know.”
Her eyes lifted to mine again.
The truck hit another bump, but neither of us looked away.
“You keep them breathing,” I said. “I’ll deal with everything outside this truck.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed.
Gunfire echoed faintly somewhere in the distance.
Too far to hit us now.
Close enough to remind us this wasn’t over.
“Understood?” I asked.
For half a second, she looked exhausted enough to break apart right there in front of me.
Then she pulled it back in.
Locked it down tight.
“Understood.”
The doctor’s voice returned.
Steady.
Controlled.
Like the crack I’d seen never existed.
But I saw it.
And somehow that bothered me more than the bullets.
I released her arm and moved back toward the edge of the truck, scanning the darkness again.
Behind me, Olivia murmured softly to the children.
