Neither of us breathed.
His gaze dropped to the blade at my neck, then back to my face. Horror flooded his expression.
Raw, devastating horror.
His voice was hoarse, broken. "You are not the Fox."
“I-I am not.”
“You are my brother’s Heart.”
“I-I am.”
Behind us, the guards hadn’t lowered their weapons. Three guns were trained on Hiro’s back, fingers on triggers, probably ready to shoot if that blade so much as twitched.
"Hiro," the scarred guard said carefully, voice steady but commanding. "Lower the knife. Please. Now."
Hiro’s hand trembled harder. He looked at the blade like he didn’t recognize it. Like it had appeared in his hand by some terrible magic.
“No.” Slowly, he began to move the knife away from my throat and backed away.
I stayed pressed against the counter, unable to move. My legs felt like water. My heart was trying to break through my ribs.
My hand instinctively went to my neck even though he hadn't broken skin.
Behind us, the guards hadn't lowered their weapons.
"Nyomi." The scarred guard's voice was tight. "Please. Step away from him. Now."
But I couldn't move.
My body wouldn't cooperate.
My throat still buzzed where steel had hovered.
Hiro's face had gone pale. "I. . .I'm sorry. I didn't—"
"She needs to sit down," the younger guard said, already moving toward me. "Are you in shock?"
Am I?
I looked down at my hands.
They were trembling violently.
Oh.
The guard tried to guide me away, but I shook my head. If I moved, if I acknowledged what just happened, I'd fall apart.
Better to stay still.
Better to breathe.
"Nyomi. I’m. . .sorry." Hiro's voice cracked. "Are you okay?"
"Yes. . ." My voice came out thin, reedy. Not my voice at all. "I just need a minute to steady my nerves and then I’ll be fine."
I filled my lungs—one, two, three, four—held it while the room rang with the aftermath—one, two, three, four—then let the air out, long and even—one, two, three, four, five, six.
