"Marina. Look at me."
Dante's voice cuts through the memory. I blink. The hallway disappears. I'm back in the car, gripping the leather seat so hard my knuckles are white.
"Breathe," he says. "You're safe."
Safe. The word feels hollow.
The car rounds a curve, and the main house appears.
Beautiful. Terrifying.
The car stops in front of the entrance. Wide stone steps lead up to double doors that must be fifteen feet tall. Everything is exactly as I remember it.
The driver opens my door.
I don't move.
I can't move. My body has locked up, every muscle frozen. The panic I've been fighting claws its way up my chest, wrapping around my lungs, squeezing until I can't breathe.
"Marina."
Dante's hand hovers near my shoulder. Not touching. Waiting.
I force myself to look at him. His dark eyes are steady. Patient. He's not rushing me. He's not telling me to get over it or calm down or stop being dramatic.
He's just there.
I take a breath. Then another.
"I need a minute," I whisper.
"Take as long as you need."
Movement at the top of the stairs catches my attention. A figure appears in the doorway.
Sophia.
She's wearing a simple blue dress, her dark hair pulled back from her face. She looks different than she did in Denver. More settled. More sure of herself. But her eyes are the same. Warm and worried and full of love.
She doesn't rush down the stairs. She waits at the top, giving me space.
I climb out of the car on shaking legs. The cobblestones are uneven under my feet. I grip the car door for balance, then let go.
One step. Two. Three.
Sophia meets me halfway down the stairs. Her hand extends toward me, palm up. An offering. A lifeline.
I grab it.
Her fingers close around mine, warm and solid and real. The tears I've been fighting spill over, streaming down my cheeks. I can't stop them. Don't want to stop them.
"Hey," Sophia says softly. "I've got you."
A sob tears out of my throat. Sophia pulls me into her arms, and I collapse against her, crying into her shoulder like I'm five years old and the world is too big and too scary and too much.
She holds me. Doesn't say anything. Just holds me while I fall apart on the steps of the house that haunts my dreams.
When the worst of it passes, I pull back. Wipe my face with shaking hands. Try to find some semblance of composure.
