Elariana
He was still holding my hand. Not tightly, not possessively, just as if we were connected by a thin, warm thread, and if he let go, I would start falling again. My breathing slowly, very slowly began to calm. My chest no longer jerked as wildly as before, but that fine after tremor remained in my body, the one I always felt after a panic attack. As if my bones remembered that just moments ago, they thought they were going to die.
Zane watched quietly.
He did not rush me.
He did not tell me to calm down. He did not hush me. He did not breathe for me. He was simply there, kneeling in front of me, my hand in his palm, looking at me as if he too were learning in that moment how to handle something far more fragile than anything he had ever held before.
I do not know how much time
