“Jack…" Vesper's voice was barely a whisper, yet it struck like a lightning bolt between them.
He didn't respond—his arms were tight around her, jaw clenched, eyes staring into the dark.
She trembled harder. “It's getting worse. My brain's—splintering."
“I know."
Her fingers curled into his ruined shirt. “I can hear my pulse screaming. Like every nerve is… rewired."
“Don't talk."
“I need to."
“No, you need to breathe."
Her breath hitched. “I'm scared."
That stopped him. His voice softened. “I know."
“No," she said again, more desperate. “Not of the storm. Of myself. Of what I'll do if this escalates."
Jack glanced down. Her hospital gown stuck to her skin with sweat. Her body burned. “It's not your fault."
“I'll beg," she warned. “Not because I want to. Because I was made to."
