Everyone starts filing out of the shelter the second Ezra gives the all clear, and the air shifts from panic to exhausted relief in the space of a heartbeat, but I do not move with them because there is still work to be done and I cannot stand the idea of leaving this place in chaos after what just happened.
The children cling to their mothers, warriors’ mates whisper to each other about who got hurt and who made it back, and footsteps echo up the stairwell as they climb back into the packhouse, but I stay behind and look around at the blankets scattered across the concrete floor and the empty water bottles rolling in corners.
If there is a next time, this place needs to be ready.
I bend down and start folding the blankets one by one, shaking them out and stacking them neatly on the she
