He didn’t rush me.
“Hands,” he said quietly. “Can you feel my hands?”
I nodded. Barely.
“Good. Press into them.”
I did. My palms pushed against his forearms, feeling muscle, heat, reality.
“Again.”
I pressed harder.
“That’s it,” he said. “Stay with me.”
The room slowly came back into focus. The sound of my own breathing, loud and uneven. The scrape of a chair being moved. Someone swearing under their breath, probably Brutus.
Brutus stood frozen near the counter, face pale.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough. “I didn’t mean?—”
“Not now,” Wrecker snapped without looking at him.
The edge in his voice made my stomach flip. Not in fear. It was something else. Protection. Anger aimed outward.
Doc shifted closer. “Amanda, I need you to take a sip of water.”
A bottle appeared in my line of sight. I took it with shaking hands, spilled some down my chin, didn’t care. Swallowed. Coughed. Swallowed again.
The worst of it passed like a wave breaking, leaving me weak and exposed in its wake.
My face burned.
I hated this part. The aftermath. The moment where everyone knew I wasn’t okay.
“I’m sorry,” I said, the words tumbling out automatically. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“Stop,” Wrecker said.
Not sharp. Firm.
“This isn’t you messing up.”
I looked at him, blinking fast.
Doc nodded. “You had a trauma response. That’s not a choice.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, shoulders caving inward. “I froze.”
Wrecker’s jaw tightened. “No. You had a memory hit you sideways. That’s different.”
It didn’t feel different.
It felt like weakness. Like failure. Like I’d been exposed as fragile when everyone else around me moved through the world like nothing could touch them.
Brutus loomed nearby, arms crossed, eyes dark. “Anybody say otherwise, I’ll handle it.”
I almost laughed. Almost.
