Page 61 of Lyon

The devastation was worsethan I had imagined. The streets were filled with dust and grief, the air thick with smoke and dust that still hadn’t settled, and crumbling buildings. People were digging through the rubble with bare hands, desperate to find their loved ones.

A local man guided us to the collapsed school. My stomach tightened at the sound of cries—weak, terrified, but alive.

We immediately started digging. Our team had brought extra gloves, and we handed them out to parents, whose hands were already raw and bleeding. They barely noticed the pain. The only thing that mattered was the hope buried beneath the wreckage.

Hours passed. Sweat dripped down my back, and my arms ached, but I refused to stop. Then, I saw it—a small, dust-covered hand poking through the debris.

“I see someone!” I called out.

I reached for the tiny fingers, and the moment my skin touched hers, she grasped onto me with surprising strength. My heart clenched. She was alive.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” I murmured. “We’re going to get you out.”

I shouted for everyone to pause as I noticed large rocks shifting dangerously near her. We moved each one carefully, working together to free her without causing more harm. Then, finally, I saw her—a little girl, no older than five, her dark eyes wide with shock.

She saw my face and, she smiled—a tiny, fragile smile in the middle of all this destruction.

A woman crawled beside me, whispering softly to the girl in Turkish. The child didn’t respond; she just kept staring at me, clinging to my neck the second I lifted her free.

Oliver took a picture—though I didn’t realize it at the time—and sent it to Niki.

The woman, likely a volunteer, reached for the girl, but her little arms only tightened around me.

“That’s okay,” I reassured her. “I’ll check her. I’m a medic.”

The others kept digging, but I barely heard them over the sudden scream that ripped through the air. A woman and twochildren came running toward us, their faces streaked with tears and dust.

The girl in my arms tensed, then let out a choked sob as she buried her face against me.

“Is this your daughter?” I asked as the woman reached us, her voice breaking as she cried, “My baby! My baby!”

I gently pried the child’s arms from my neck and passed her into her mother’s trembling embrace. The moment they connected, they clung to each other, crying openly.

The mother turned to me and grasped my hands. “Thank you. Thank you for saving my daughter. My husband is a doctor at the makeshift hospital. He will be overjoyed to see his little Gracie.”

I froze. “Her name is Gracie?”

She nodded.

Emotion swelled inside me. “My wife is pregnant with our daughter—Grace Hope.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “I need to get back in there. We’re not stopping until we find the others.”

The woman gave me a tearful smile. “God bless you.”

I turned, heading straight back into the wreckage, my heart pounding.

God, I wasn’t going soft, was I? Every time we pulled a child from that rubble, I felt like breaking down.

By the end of that first day, we had saved eleven kids. Eleven lives were pulled from that pile of rubble and glass.

We didn’t want to stop. But as darkness fell, the site became too unstable to continue without light.

Someone brought us sandwiches, but I could barely stomach them. How could I eat when so many were still trapped beneath the rubble?

Still, I forced myself to take a bite. We needed strength to keep going.

Tomorrow, we would dig again.

Tomorrow, we would find more children.

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