I lower my eyes and shake my head. I couldn't speak even if I wanted to.
He watches me for a moment, then glances at the house.
"Is it something about the house?" he asks.
I start to hyperventilate now. All of the memories I try to keep buried push to the surface—the children in the dungeon, the skeletons of the prisoners who wasted away in the cells, my mother's wicked heart.
Nothing is right in the world.
Nothing.
"You're having a panic attack," he says, reaching for my hand. He squeezes it in his. "How can I help?"
I shake my head and try to push him away. He doesn't let me.
“Have you heard of box breathing?" he asks.
His voice. It’s so gentle, so kind. It's everything I've been deprived of my whole life.
I look up at him. He's standing so close to me. The simple act of looking into his eyes awakens something dormant inside me.
"It's a breathing technique," he says. "You can use it to regulate your nervous system."
My gaze drops to his lips. I'm pretty sure his accent just switched for a second there. It seems to come out whenever he's agitated.
"Inhale for a count of four, hold for four seconds, exhale for four, and hold again," he says. "Do it with me, little bird."
His hands hold mine reverently. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he actually cares about me.
I let him guide me. We inhale and exhale as one. He doesn't take his eyes off me, not even for a second. It feels like I've stepped through a portal and entered a world where it's just the two of us.
"Are you feeling better?" He searches my eyes once more.
I nod.
“I’m assuming you don't want to go inside the house?" he asks.
I shake my head.
“That’s alright,” he says. “I can have Sarah brought out here.”
He makes a call. Two minutes later, Sarah walks out of the front doors with two armed bodyguards trailing her. When she sees me, she breaks out into a run.
Her frail body crashes into mine. I wrap my arms around her and hold her close.
"Grace, it's so good to see you," she whispers against my hair.
"How are you?" I pull away to study her face for any signs of distress.
"I'm well," she says. "I slept like a baby for the first time in years. I almost forgot what peace felt like."
Dante excuses himself to speak to his men. Sarah watches him go.
“He saved my life,” she says.
She's got it all wrong. Kindness always comes at a cost in our world, and only fools believe otherwise. But I don't want to be the one to burst her bubble.
“There’s more to him than what meets the eye,” I say.
