Page 30 of Faron
“Are you Thor?” he asked Cyclone.
“Yes,” Cyclone said. “And I’m going to save you.”
A toddler died in her mother’s arms.
And we kept working.
When the cartel came again — guns out — we turned as one.
They left.
Eventually, it was dark.
Blue stood there — exhausted, blood on her shoes.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I would’ve had to choose between the boy and the woman if you hadn’t been here.”
“Have you… had to do that before?” River asked. “I mean make a choice?”
Blue looked away.
“Yes.”
She was shaking.
“They need a place,” she said. “Somewhere safe. I found an old building. Thought about turning it into a rec center. Somewhere to just… breathe.”
“I’ll help,” I said instantly.
“Me too,” said Cyclone.
“Same,” River added.
She looked at all of us, eyes hard.
“This isn’t something you do for a week. You stay. You build. You don’t quit.”
I nodded.
“We’re not walking away this time.”
30
Blue
It had been a week since Cyclone and River arrived, and my clinic hadn’t been the same since.
In the best way.
One or two members of their team showed up every day like clockwork — bringing food, fixing broken fixtures, offering extra hands. Even Kat, River’s wife, joined the chaos, her military medic instincts sharper than steel. I thought the blood might get to her. It didn’t. She kissed crying babies, cracked jokes with teens covered in stitches, and brought enough sweets to bribe a whole army of scared kids into smiling.
And Faron — he was everywhere.
At my side in every emergency, running supply runs, replacing the back door that got shot out two days ago.
And then he walked up holding a crisp envelope like he was handing me the stars.
“What’s this?” I asked, already suspicious.
