"Is Cillian in A City tonight?"
I tapped the trending photo hard enough that the screen flashed. A crowd, muddy water, a celebrity in a yellow life vest. My thumb hovered over the share button.
"You're serious?" Holden's voice came through the line, low and steady. He could hear the yard beyond him—distant engines, someone calling a name he shouldn't answer.
"Book the earliest flight. I go now." My voice was a command, not a question.
"Kaori, you just walked through the door last week." Holden's protest held the shape of something more than worry. He had held my face steady when surgeons stole my old one. He had bandaged fingers that weren't mine. He had the right to nag.
"I know," I said. "But he's there."
Silence. A car shuttered. "You know what that place is like. The press, the donors, the... Veronique won't let anyone near the relief hubs without press clearance."
"Then we go in on our terms." I didn't need to spell out volunteer badges or who would sign what forms. Holden knew how I worked: quiet entry, fast fixes, keep the focus on the people.
"You're taking a helicopter." He said it like a question.
"I'll take whatever gets me there. Arrange it."
"Kaori—"
"Holden." One word. My father used to call me before I left town with the same clipped tone. Holden understood the boundary. "Book the earliest flight. I go now."
A
