"W-will my brother be alright?" Minerva's voice trembled as she looked to Hera for reassurance.
Though she wasn't a medical student, she understood enough to know that an infected wound could mean serious complications—possibly even life-threatening ones. Her worry was evident, her gaze fixed anxiously on Hera as if searching for any hint of hope.
"I-I don't know," Hera replied, her voice trembling as her eyes flickered with worry. "But at the very least, we need to get his fever down and clean his wounds."
"We can't move him," Minerva said quickly, grabbing Hera's hand as she reached toward Rafael. Her grip was firm, her face set with fear and urgency, making it clear just how fragile Rafael's condition was.
"Why?"
"His wounds will reopen—I barely managed to stop the bleeding, and every time he moves, it starts again," Minerva explained through choked sobs. Only now did Hera take in Minerva's appearance fully.