Almost.
Asher
Two steps after I let go of her elbow, she sways. Her knee buckles, and momentum tips her forward before she can compensate.
I’m already moving. “I’ve got you,” I say, one hand grazing her waist in the lightest touch I can manage.
Her whole body reacts. Not a stumble. A full, involuntary flinch. This contact has hit somewhere deeper than pain.
“I know,” I add, my voice low and steady. “And I’m sorry. But we have to keep moving.”
She doesn’t argue. She doesn’t thank me. She stays upright, and that’s al that matters.
We make another turn into some sort of loading bay. I scan the space for cameras and guide her to the corner, where we should be safe in a blind spot.
“We’re clear,” I say. “Only one camera, and it can’t see us. You can take the hood off now. Or I can. You tell me when.”
Raine
Not yet. The words won’t come. I have to make him understand.
“I need…one more breath.”
“Take it,” Asher says.
I do. It doesn’t help.
“Okay,” I manage. “Okay. Loosen it. My fingers—I don’t have control.”
He doesn’t move right away.
“Tell me where to touch,” he says quietly.
Relief hits so hard it makes my eyes sting.
“The tie. At the back. Just enough so I can try.”
His hands come up slowly, and I feel the shift in the air before the pressure at my throat eases. The fabric loosens—not removed, but not choking me anymore.
I lift my hands. Or try to. My left arm barely responds. The right moves, then stops halfway up as my shoulder flares white-hot, sharp enough to steal what little breath remains.
I hiss, nausea rolling through me. If I’m sick now…I won’t come back from it.
“Shoulder?” Asher asks.
I nod once. Carefully this time.
“I can’t.” The admission costs more than it should. “I need you to do it.”
“All right.” He keeps his voice even. “I’ll lift the hood forward and up. I won’t touch your face unless I have to.”
Cool, clean air hits first. I drag it in like I’ve been underwater too long.
Darkness gives way to gray. Then lighter gray.
Then light.
Too much.