The faint glow of candlelight flickered through the dim corridors of the Scutari hospital as Florence Nightingale made her way towards the makeshift ward. The night was still, the only sounds the soft murmurs of soldiers and the quiet footsteps of nurses moving between the rows of cots. She paused at a bed where a young soldier rested, with bandages around his chest.

Florence pulled back her shawl, her hands steady despite the exhaustion from another long day. She crouched beside him, inspecting the bandages.

Her voice was calm, soothing as she gently adjusted the bandages. "You're in good hands now. I'll make sure you will heal." she murmured, her words barely above a whisper.

She cleaned the wound with practiced efficiency, her movements precise and controlled. "Does it hurt if I do this?"