Her body folds in on itself, like something inside her just gave way.
She stumbles, her hand reaching for anything—
The desk.
Air.
Nothing.
Then she drops.
I’m already moving before she hits the ground.
I catch her just as her knees buckle, my arm locking around her waist, pulling her against me as another violent gag wracks through her.
“Easy,” I mutter, my voice low but firm, one hand coming up to hold the back of her head as she retches.
Her body trembles.
Uncontrollably.
Her fingers clutch weakly at my shirt like she needs something solid to anchor her.
“Don’t look,” I say quietly, sharper this time. “Don’t look at it.”
Misha moves immediately behind me.
“Get it out,” I order without turning.
There’s no hesitation.
The box is gone within seconds.
But the damage is already done.
Valeria’s breathing is uneven, her body still shaking against mine as I keep her upright.
I tighten my hold slightly.
Not enough to hurt.
Just enough to remind her she’s here.
Safe.
Even if the world outside that moment is anything but.
I lower her carefully onto the couch, keeping a hand at her back until I’m sure she won’t slip.
She leans into it for a second longer than necessary, her breathing uneven, her fingers still clutching at my shirt like she hasn’t fully come back yet.
I frown.
This isn’t her.
Valeria isn’t fragile.
She doesn’t break at the sight of blood.
