Kirr's fingers stopped tapping the interface. A pause stretched between them. "Do you need anything? Water? Something to eat?"
She shook her head, already standing. “No, I’m good, thanks. I’m just really tired.”
"Of course, sleep." His voice was low. Gruff. She didn’t look at him. "If you need anything, just call."
She stood on legs that felt distant and odd and headed for her room. She didn't look back, because if she looked back, she might crack, and she couldn't crack here, not in front of him, not when she'd spent the whole day holding herself together through sheer stubborn will.
The door slid closed behind her, and the bands around her chest snapped tight.
Her knees buckled. She caught herself on the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the mattress as the room tilted sideways. Her lungs wouldn't work. She dragged in air, but it wasn't enough, it was never enough, the oxygen wasn't reaching her blood and gray crept in at the edges of her vision —
Delilah on the ground. Blood on her temple. Not moving.
No. No, she was fine. Kellat said she was healing. She was going to be?—
You didn't stop her.
The thought slammed into her. She could have grabbed Delilah's arm. Could have said something. Could have done anything except sat in that passenger seat and--
Your fault. This is your fault.
Harper hit the wall. She didn't remember sliding down it, but now she was on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest and her hands fisted in her hair. Her breath came in sharp, useless gasps. Too fast. She knew it was too fast. Couldn't stop.
Smoke. Twisted metal. Mom's hand through the gap in the wreckage, so still, so fucking still?—
Trapped. Screaming until her throat bled raw and no one came.
Then the silence.
You always survive. That's the problem, isn't it? You always, always survive while everyone around you?—
Pressing her palms over her eyes, she tried to breathe. Tried to count. Tried to do any of the things that were supposed to help when your brain decided to eat itself alive.
Nothing worked. Nothing ever fucking worked.
The door opened.
Her head snapped up. Kirr filled the doorway, massive shoulders squared and blocking out the light from the living area.
"Harper." His voice cut through the static in her skull. Calm. Commanding. He lowered into a crouch, blocking her view of the room. "Eyes on me."
Tremors ran through her body, her teeth clacking together in a sharp tattoo.
He crossed the room in two strides and dropped into a crouch in front of her. This close, he was enormous, his shoulders blocking her view of the wall behind him.
He held his hands open near her knees… just there, not touching. "Three things you can see. Now."
She sucked in a ragged breath. "I can't?—"
"Three things." Same deep tone. Commanding. No pressure. "Here. This room."
She forced herself to focus and the gray retreated, just a little. "Your... your eyes. The light. Behind you. And—" Her gaze dropped to his chest, did a sideswerve from the expanse of pure male muscle on display. "Your jacket."
A nod. "Good. Two sounds."
She listened past the roaring in her ears. "Your voice. And..." A faint hum, almost subliminal. "The station. I can hear the station."
"Good, one thing you can touch."
