“It’s been too long,” I mutter, twisting my fingers and fixing my eyes on the bunker’s heavy iron door. One hand rested on Rafe’s small carrier as he slept peacefully beside the two uncomfortable chairs Cora and I had dragged down the hall. We wanted to be near the entrance to receive news immediately.

“Ella,” Cora hissed. “You have to stop saying that. You’re making me panic.”

“I’m not the one panicking,” I retorted angrily. “It’s our idiot mates. They insisted on leaving four hours ago and haven’t called once to check in.”

Then, as if summoned by my words, the door burst open. Cora and I jumped up.

I gasped, nearly bursting into tears at the sight of my mate, Sinclair, in the doorway. I lunged toward him, intending to embrace him, but stopped short. He was carrying one of his men—unconscious, bloody, and horribly burned. The burns had ripped through his clothes, leaving red welts on his exposed skin.

“Oh my god,” I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth. I noticed the extent of the man’s injuries.

Sinclair’s eyes lingered on me for a half-second before snapping to my sister. “Cora,” he gasped, “help—it’s bad—”

She rushed to him, beginning to assess the soldier, but Sinclair pulled him away, shaking his head. “No, Cora,” he insisted, forcing her to look at him. “We need… we need space.”

I gasped again, horrified as I understood his meaning and saw my sister’s face pale. She instantly regained her professional composure, turning to me.

“Ella,” she snapped. “You’re the nurse now.”

“Y-yes,” I agreed quickly, eager to help. I grabbed Rafe’s carrier and slung it over my right arm.

“Your largest room,” she demanded, turning back to Sinclair, then pointed down the hall. “Go, now.”

As Sinclair moved, more men stumbled through the doorway. The hall filled with the sounds of pain—moans, groans, cries.

To her credit, Cora didn’t look back, striding forward to prepare. I couldn’t help but turn to the injured men, my attention drawn to the red-haired young man who had spoken at the meeting. He fell heavily against the wall, gasping.

I immediately moved to him, slinging his arm around my shoulder to support his weight. “Lean on me,” I demanded, starting forward. He was heavy, and I struggled to balance him and Rafe’s carrier. I desperately hoped he wouldn’t collapse and crush the baby.

We made it, though, following the ambulatory men into what resembled a barracks more than Sinclair’s and my small private bedroom. I quickly surveyed the room. My mate was settling the unconscious man into a bed. Others were seating themselves on beds and chairs. I moved the young man to the nearest bed, holding him steady until he could support himself.

“Are you all right?” I asked, leaning over him, worried.

“I’ll be fine,” he groaned, waving a hand. “It hurts, but it’s not bad… thank you, Luna,” he murmured, leaning back against the pillow and closing his eyes.

I nodded, making a mental note to check on him again. I then hurried to my mate, who was speaking briskly with Cora.

“Are you all right?” I gasped, pressing against him and touching his scorched cheek.

“I’m fine, Ella,” Sinclair assured me, meeting my gaze for a long, lingering second, clearly savoring the sight of me before turning to Rafe, who whimpered in his carrier. Sinclair lingered a moment, looking at his son, before turning towards the door. “I’m sorry,” he said urgently, “I have to help—”

“Of course,” I said, lightly touching his arm and urging him forward.

But Cora quickly stopped Sinclair, grabbing his hand. He turned, torn between helping his men and—

“Roger,” she breathed, her eyes worried.

“He’s fine,” Sinclair replied briskly, meeting her gaze for a split second. “He’s helping the worst injured out of the cars—”

“Okay,” Cora said, her voice shaking as she exhaled deeply and stood with her eyes closed, collecting herself. “Okay.”

The moment passed, and Cora’s eyes snapped open. She was all business. Nodding toward the door, she urged Sinclair forward, and he quickly left. Then she turned to me. “I need you to start moving clockwise around the room,” she said calmly and efficiently. “Call out to me if anyone looks desperately ill—otherwise, ask each man his name and what’s wrong. Take notes.” She grabbed a pen and notepad from a small bookshelf.

“Okay,” I exhaled, realizing my hands were shaking.

“Hold it together, sis,” Cora said quietly, stepping close, taking my face in her hands, and looking at me steadily. “You’ve got this. All right?”

I nodded, anxious, and we both moved—she to the left, I to the right—to begin helping.

Time flew as I moved from man to man, asking their needs, getting them what I could, otherwise noting their injuries before moving on. The only interruption was Cora’s brief cry when Roger entered, carrying an injured soldier. Cora was at his side instantly.

After Roger settled the man in a bed, there was a brief moment where Cora kissed him, pressing herself against him, before resuming her duties.

My sister was the doctor again, ready to care, to help—and I was so grateful in that moment I could barely breathe. Seeing Roger watch her, I knew he felt the same.

Turning to the next man, a surge of hope filled me. Roger and Cora had found each other. The four of us, as a team—we could do this. I had faith in that.