Page 145 of Operation: Defiance

Chapter Thirty

Asher

The music changes. One playlist moving seamlessly into another. None with harsh beats. Edges. Strident tones.

Before I left to pick up the clothes, Raine connected her new phone to the speaker. What’s on now is her choice, picked with trembling fingers, but no hesitation.

She sinks a little deeper into the cushions, eyes open, but not fixed on anything I can discern. She’s depleted again.

I see it in the lag between blinks. The way her fingers move slower as she runs them over the cuff of the hoodie. The small hitch when she swallows.

The logs. Shopping. Showering. Touch. Too many choices stacked too close together. Decision after decision. Each one cost her something, and the bill is coming due.

She’s hiding it, though I doubt she’d see it that way.

I wait, letting her stay anchored in whatever peace she’s found.

Then her stomach makes a soft, unmistakable complaint.

Raine freezes. Not breathing. Not moving. It takes me a beat to understand why.

Hunger wasn’t allowed.

I fight the urge to ball my hands into fists. Inside, I’m raging at what was done to her. But I can’t let her see it.

“Raine,” I say softly. “Can you take a breath for me?”

Her chest doesn’t move.

I draw a slow, deep breath, over-exaggerating the rise of my chest, letting it be obvious.

Her shoulders hitch once.

“Good. I’m right here. And so are you.”

She manages a shaky inhale. Her fingers flex, then loosen against her thigh.

“I’m—” She shakes her head. “I don’t know what I am.”

“I might have an idea.” I angle my wrist so she can see my watch, moving my hand as little as possible. “It’s lunchtime.”

“Lunch.” Her shoulders start to relax by degrees. “I’m…hungry.” Surprise lends a slight rasp to her voice.

“I can make us a few options. Unless there’s something specific you want?” I don’t move yet. She’s not fully back in her body, and I won’t risk spooking her.

“I… Not toast. Or…not only toast?”

It’s something.

I brace my hand on the arm of the couch and push up, hiding my wince as my back pulls tight. Moving slowly so Raine can track me, I open the fridge and pull out a few different options, then start the kettle.

“Tea or coffee?” I ask.

She’s rolling her right shoulder slowly. Carefully. Testing for pain?

“Tea.” She sounds almost disappointed. “Before...I only ever had tea at bedtime. I was…picky about my coffee.”

“Oh?” I add grounds to the French press, pour the water, and then start on her tea.