“Breathe,” he murmured, his voice a low tether keeping her anchored to reality, his thumb stroking the side of her face with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Just breathe, River.”
She shivered beneath the ruined gown, her bare back exposed to the cool air, but slowly, with every passing second, her breathing began to steady, the panic retreating like a receding tide. Her skin, once pale with the shock of it all, started to warm, color returning to her cheeks in fragile strokes.
He didn’t let go of her. Not even when he saw the tears still shimmering at the corners of her lashes, or the way she turned her face slightly, as if ashamed. She looked small, and young, and painfully fragile beneath him, and for the first time since she had entered his world, he saw the depth of the war she was fig
