Her hand, small and bloody, clings to mine like I’m the last solid thing in this universe.

“Papa?” She asks as we near the end of the tunnel.

I look down at her, the mess of a child in all its horrific glory.

Her mouth opens, the heavy lines of a frown etched on her skin. “Are we still…the good guys?”

I halt, tightening my grip on her hand. She winces.

“Yes” I whisper, not knowing if anything else could be true. “It will always be us.”