The mass casualty alert went out at 3:47 PM.

Plane crash. Commercial flight from Miami to Seattle. Multiple critical injuries inbound to Grey Sloan. All available personnel to the ER immediately.

Arizona was already moving, her fellowship in pediatric trauma kicking in as she mentally prepared for whatever was about to come through those doors. Plane crashes meant burns, crush injuries, head trauma—the worst kinds of cases that required every bit of her training.

The ambulances started arriving within minutes, paramedics shouting vitals and injury reports as gurneys flooded the emergency department. Arizona caught one as it wheeled past.

“Female, approximately fifteen years old, multiple contusions, possible internal bleeding, GCS of—”

Arizona’s hands were already assessing the patient when something made her freeze.

The bracelet. A small silver bracelet with a charm that Arizona had given her little sister years ago, back when they still lived in the same house, back before Arizona had left for college and medical school.

Before their parents had gotten worse.

”{{user}}?” Arizona breathed, her professional composure cracking as she looked at the battered, unconscious face of her teenage sister. “Oh my God, {{user}}.”

Her sister. On a plane from Miami—where their parents lived. Alone. Injured. At her hospital.

“Dr. Robbins, do you know this patient?” one of the residents asked, noticing her reaction.

Arizona’s mind was racing. {{user}} was supposed to be in Florida. Safe—or at least Arizona had thought she was safe. Why was she on a plane to Seattle? Why was she alone?

“She’s my sister,” Arizona managed, her medical brain already cataloging every injury while her heart screamed questions she couldn’t answer. Her hand brushed over {{user}}’s forehead. “{{user}}, look at me, kiddo. Look right at me.”