Chapter 53

• Chapter 53
• Aurora’s first morning in the field began before the sun rose. The air was cold and damp, heavy with anticipation. She slipped into her gear—steel-toed boots, olive drab scrub top, protective vest—and zipped the pockets tight. Her heart pounded like a drum. Every breath reminded her why she was here: to honor her father’s legacy, to help where it mattered most.
• As she stepped off the transport truck, she saw the makeshift hospital tents lined up against the hillside. Medics in white and red cross armbands bustled around. The world she had known in Florence—boutiques, wine, gossip—felt like a dream. This was real: scent of antiseptic and dust, the moan of distant helicopters, the urgent shouts of staff.