"Good. That's good. Keep going."
In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.
"Tell me four things you can feel."
"The…the cold floor. My wet dress." My hands move toward him. "Your shirt. Your hands." They're warm against my cold fingers.
"Good. Four things you can hear."
"Your voice." It's the steadiest thing in the room. "My heartbeat. The—the pipes. Someone walking upstairs."
"Three things you can hold."
I swallow, realizing I can move my fingers and toes again. "The dress. My—" I look down. He's placed his hand palm-up on the tile between us, a tissue resting there.
I take the tissue and wipe all the snot from my nose.
"Your hand." I stare at it for a long moment in the dark. Then I take it.
His fingers close around mine. Henri's here, and he's real.
This is real. It's not a dream.
"There you are." He sounds gutted. "There you are."
I don't understand why he sounds like that. Like familiarity and stillness…even amidst total chaos and damage.
"He's taking Hale. He's sending him away, and I can't—I can't stop him. I can't…I can't lose him…I can't?—"
"I'm not going to let that happen." His other hand comes up, smoothing back the pieces of hair that came undone.
"There is nothing you can do. You're just a guard."
"I can. He's not taking Hale. Not to Switzerland. Not anywhere." There's something fierce and certain in his voice that makes me want to believe him.
Light shines dimly from beneath the door. His face becomes clearer, and I stare at him. At the hard lines of his jaw. At the sadness and concern in his eyes. At the tension in his shoulders. At the way he's looking at me like I'm worth fighting for.
I don't know why it's only just occurring to me that the brown in his eyes are different. It doesn't look real, not in this dim light.
I lift my hand and slowly reach for his face, fingers trembling as I brush his cheekbone, tracing up to the corner of his eye.
He goes completely still.
"These aren't really your eyes, are they?"
He doesn't answer me.
"What aren't you telling me?" I whisper.
He doesn't offer any words, but he doesn't move away either. Just sits there, watching me with an expression I can't read.
"Take them out."
I can't believe I just said that. It's the first real demand I've made in years.
I expect him to deflect, to lie in order to protect whatever secret he's been keeping since he walked through Ewan's doors.
But after what feels like an eternity, his hand comes up to rest over mine.
