I locked the door behind us with a sharp click.
Gun on the nightstand. Safety off.
The second I turned around, I saw it.
Amanda was unraveling.
She stood frozen in the middle of my room like someone had erased the floorplan from her memory. Her arms crossed tight over her chest. Her fingers digging into her own skin like she was trying to anchor herself to reality.
Her gaze wasn’t on me. It wasn’t on anything.
Just… far away.
Her mouth parted like she wanted to speak but whatever she meant to say never made it out.
She blinked slow, once, then took two steps back until the backs of her knees hit the bed. She didn’t sit so much as collapse, folding in on herself like a house with a cracked foundation.
No fight left.
No mask.
No armor.
Just a girl who looked like the world had finally broken her.
Her knees didn’t buckle all at once.
It happened in pieces.
First her calves went tight, locking like the signal from her brain had been delayed. Then her thighs started to burn, the ache deep and dull, like she’d been holding herself upright on borrowed strength. Her shoulders crept inward without her meaning to, chin dipping, breath thinning out until each inhale felt like it stopped halfway.
Her body was done pretending.
She stared at the floor like it had suddenly lost its shape, like depth and distance didn’t work the way they were supposed to anymore. The room felt too big. Too far away. Sounds blurred at the edges. The hum of the generator, boots moving somewhere down the hall. Until everything narrowed into the single, overwhelming fact that she couldn’t keep herself standing.
Her fingers curled against her arms, nails biting into her sleeves, searching for something solid. For a signal. For proof that she was still here.
It didn’t come.
Her weight shifted back, uncontrolled, and when the backs of her knees hit the bed, the rest of her followed. Not a fall. A collapse. She folded inward like gravity had finally won, arms wrapping around her middle as if she could hold herself together by force.
She wasn’t crying yet.
She wasn’t shaking yet.
She was empty.
The kind of stillness that comes after fear burns through everything it can touch and leaves nothing but ash behind.
I crossed the room slowly and dropped to one knee in front of her. “Sweetheart,” I said, keeping my voice soft. “Talk to me. Please.”
Her eyes didn’t focus.
Didn’t move.
The tremble in her hands spread to her shoulders. Then her jaw. Then her whole damn body.
“I thought…” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I thought I was past freezing.”
