“Hey, hey… I got you,” Anna whispered, though her voice didn’t sound like something steady enough to promise anything real.
She peeled back the blankets, checking quickly—tiny fingers, red faces, wet lashes, but no bl00d, no visible injuries, just fear and cold.
“Okay. Okay. You’re okay,” she said, more to herself than them, pressing the blanket tighter around their small shaking bodies.
Behind her, Daniel made a low, broken sound.
Anna turned fast.
Bl00d was still spreading, dark and relentless, soaking through the side of his suit, dripping down onto the flour sacks beneath him.
“Great. Just great,” she muttered, forcing herself to move.
She grabbed a clean kitchen towel, pressed it hard against the wound, and Daniel jerked weakly, a breath catching in his throat.
