“Perfect. Now, three things you can feel.”
“Your hand.” His grip tightens on my fingers. “Cold. I’m cold. And...” He stops. Swallows.
“And what?”
“My heart. It’s—” He presses his free hand to his chest. “It won't slow down.”
I don't think. I just act.
I take his hand—the one pressed to his chest—and move it to mine. Press his palm flat against my sternum, right over my heartbeat.
“Feel that?” I ask. “Match it. Breathe with me.”
His eyes widen. But he doesn't pull away.
I breathe in slowly. Hold it. Let it out. His hand is cold through my wet shirt, his fingers spread wide over my collarbone, and I can feel him trying. Fighting to sync his ragged gasps with my steady rhythm.
“In,” I murmur. “Hold. Out. That’s it. Again.”
We stand like that for what feels like hours. The storm rages outside, rain pounding the roof, wind screaming through the gaps, but inside this tiny cabin it’s just us. His hand on my heart. My hand over his. Breathing together.
Slowly—so slowly—his shoulders start to drop. His jaw unclenches. His breathing evens out, matching mine, and the wild desperation in his eyes fades to something rawer. Something ashamed.
“I'm sorry,” he says quietly. “I don't—this doesn’t usually happen. I have it under control.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I do.” He tries to pull his hand back, but I hold it in place. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this. I’m supposed to be?—”
“What? Invincible?” I shake my head. “Daniel, you were trapped in a collapsed building for eighteen hours. You watched people die. That’s not something you justget over.”
His jaw tightens. “How do you know about that?”
“Tom mentioned it. Back when I first started.” I keep my voice gentle. No pity—he’d hate pity—just facts. “I’m not going to pretend I understand what you went through. But I know what it’s like to feel like the walls are closing in. To feel like you’re one bad moment away from losing everything.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. His hand is still pressed to my chest, my heartbeat steady under his palm, and something in his expression cracks.
“The dark was the worst part,” he says finally. “When the power went out. When I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t tell if I was buried or if there was a way out. I just knew I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. And the guys I was supposed to protect?—”
His voice breaks.
I don’t let him finish. I just step forward and wrap my arms around him.
For a heartbeat, he’s rigid. Frozen. Like he doesn’t know what to do with comfort, like it’s a foreign language he never learned.
Then, something in him gives.
His arms come around me, crushing me against his chest, and his face drops to my hair. He’s shaking. Not the fine tremor from before—real shaking, his whole body wracked with the effort of holding himself together.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
He doesn’t answer. Just holds on.
The storm howls outside. Rain batters the roof. The cabin creaks and groans around us like it’s weathering its own battle.
But in here, wrapped in Daniel’s arms, I feel something I haven’t felt in years.
Safe.
