"Dad."
Beatrice reached the bed at the back of the shelter. The moment she took her weight off the staff, her injured leg buckled and she caught herself against the mattress. She barely noticed the pain. Her father lay beneath the thin blanket, his eyes closed.
He opened his eyes and stared at her for a moment. Then he reached toward her face.
"Beatrice?"
She caught his hand in both of hers.
His fingers were warm.
All the way here, she had tried not to imagine finding him beneath a collapsed building. She had watched people die in the buried city and kept walking because he might still be waiting for her.
Now he was in front of her, weak and pale, but looking back at her.
She lowered her head over his hand.
"I couldn't contact you."
"The messages stopped." His voice was rough. "They brought us here from the hospital."
"I know. I went looking."
His gaze moved over the blood on her clothes and stopped at her leg.
"What happened to you?"
"I'm hurt. I can still walk."
