LUCA'S POV
Camila went still in my arms. All the way still. Not sleep-still.
I'd been closest when she slid off the chair — pure reflex, the kind that doesn't ask permission before it moves. Two fingers to the side of her neck before the crowd even finished reacting. Pulse steady. Breathing shallow, but there. Not a fall. She'd just gone under, the way an overheated six-year-old does at a long, crowded thing like this.
"She's all right," I said to Felicia, pitching it to carry over the noise. "She's breathing. Stay with me."
Felicia had her hand on Camila's arm, and the hostess she'd been playing all night was gone from her face. No performance left in it anywhere. Just a mother looking at a kid who'd gone limp.
"Why isn't she waking up," Felicia said.
"Give her a moment." I kept my
