Everything’s too loud. The scrape of spoons against bowls, the wind outside, the fire crackling.
“Dakota?” Julien’s voice cuts through the static building in my ears.
I should—what? What should I?
My hands shake as I clutch the table edge. The wood grain blurs, swimming in and out of focus.
“I need to check—” The words come out strangled. “Her pills. Meli.”
Silence drops like a stone.
“Mija.” Rosa’s voice is gentle. Too gentle. “Amelia isn’t?—“
“I know.” My throat closes. “I know. But I?—”
The room tilts sideways.
Can’t breathe. Can’t?—
Strong hands grip my shoulders, steadying me before my knees give out. Julien. Has to be Julien by the scent filling my nose.
“Breathe,” he says. “Dakota, look at me.”
I can’t. If I look at him, if I see the pity?—
“She’s having a panic attack.” Arianna’s voice comes from somewhere far away. “Get her somewhere quiet.”
“No.” I shove against Julien’s chest. “I’m fine. I just need?—”
“To breathe.” He doesn’t budge. “In through your nose. Count to three.”
“Don’t tell me?—”
“One.” His thumb presses against my wrist, circling. “Two.”
My lungs burn.
“Three. Now out through your mouth.”
I exhale. Ragged. Broken.
“Again.”
“Julien—”
“Again, Dakota.”
His voice is soothing, not commanding, not harsh. Just steady. My safe place.
I breathe in.
One. Two. Three.
Out.
The static recedes. Not much. But enough that I can see past the white edges crowding my vision.
“Good girl,” Julien murmurs. “Good job.”
