Aisha's POV
War forced people into desperate choices. It strip away comforts, blurred the line between right and necessary, and left little room for rest or reflection. But I didn't have time to think about that now. There were too many bodies and not enough hands.
Blood stained my gloves, the scent of antiseptic barely masking the copper tang that hung in the air. I worked with mechanical precision, moving from one patient to the next, sutures, compressions, bone realignments. My hands remembered what my mind could barely keep up with.
"Clamp," I called out, not needing to look. Emma handed it to me, her fingers steady even as sweat trickled down her brow.
"Artery's holding," she said.
"Good. Irrigation next."
As I worked, I kept my voice calm, narrating every move. No
