I was sitting up in bed, cradling her against me.
Nora’s breath came in short, sharp bursts as she tried to pull herself out of the panic.
She shook violently, her fingers gripping my arms like I was the only thing keeping her afloat.
I cupped the back of her head and pressed my forehead gently to hers.
“It’s okay,” I murmured, voice steady even though my heart was hammering. “You’re here. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
She tried to inhale and choked on it.
“Breathe with me,” I whispered.
I held her close, chest to chest, letting her feel the rise and fall of my breathing.
“In,” I said softly.
Her chest stuttered, then rose.
“Good. Now slow.”
She clung to me, matching the rhythm.
I slid a hand down her back, grounding her with soft pressure. Her hair brushed my cheek, damp with fear.
After a minute, her breathing steadied.
Not normal—
but close.
She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice cracked and fragile.
“No,” I said immediately. “No apologizing. Not for this.”
She looked down. “It felt so real.”
I brushed my thumb over her cheek. “What happened?”
She swallowed hard. “He was there. In the dream. Watching me on the street. Then he started coming closer. I couldn’t move.”
My jaw tightened—not at her, but at the invisible bastard who was poisoning her peace even in sleep.
“That’s your mind trying to process fear,” I said gently. “It’s normal.”
“I hate that he’s gotten into my head,” she whispered fiercely. “Into my dreams.”
“He’s not getting any farther,” I said. “Not with me here.”
Her eyes glistened again, but this time it wasn’t terror.
It was something softer.
“You really mean that,” she whispered.
I nodded. “More than I’ve ever meant anything.”
