“They are alive,” he informed Gertrude quietly. He glanced at Alina. “Both of them. They arrived just in time.”
Alina exhaled a sound that was barely audible. Her shoulders sagged. Relief washed across her face like a tide retreating from shore. Then her knees buckled and she fainted softly against Gertrude’s arms.
. . .
When Alina awoke, she was lying on a hospital cot, wrapped in a clean blanket. Her feet were bandaged. Her skin smelled faintly of antiseptic. Gertrude sat beside her. The nurse offered her water. Alina drank cautiously, as if afraid the cup might vanish.
“We need to know where you came from,” Gertrude said gently. “So we can help your family.”
Alina hesitated. She rubbed her hands together, her eyes drifting to the tiled floor. “I live in a blue house,” she murmured. “Up on the hill. Past a broken bridge.”