Page 71 of Operation: Defiance

The room is almost completely silent. Silence is…dangerous.

Heat builds in my stomach too quickly, spreading in a way that’s wrong before I can figure out why.

My heart thumps hard, out of rhythm.

I blink. My wrists feel untethered without weight. The skin there hums, oversensitive, and the rest of me is rough. Gritty. My hands twitch uselessly against the blanket.

Don’t move. They’ll come.

I can’t get enough air. My breathing stutters, skips, starts again with no pattern.

My legs jerk. Small, sharp misfires I can’t control.

No. Stop.

I try to catalog what I know.

Bed.

Warmth.

Nothing else comes.

My pulse keeps climbing, anticipating pain. I’m terrified when there isn’t any.

I turn my head too fast. The room tilts. Nausea surges, sharp enough that a tiny whimper breaks free.

“Raine.”

It takes a minute.

Asher

His smooth, deep voice cuts through the edges of my panic. Real in a way nothing else can be.

“You’re safe. You’re not back there.”

He keeps talking, not filling the space as much as shaping it. I can’t make sense of the words. I focus on the cadence. The low, reassuring tone.

“You’re in a bed. In one of my safe houses. No one’s touching you. No one’s going to touch you. I’m staying right here. And if you look, you can see my hands.”

The nausea crests instead of breaking. Heat floods my face, then drains just as fast, leaving me hollowed out and shaky.

My hands curl. My jaw locks hard enough my teeth ache.

“Talk to me,” Asher says quietly. “What’s the worst part right now? Body or mind?”

My chest reacts before I can decide. Every question could be a trap. But…he hasn’t moved. He’s still in the chair.

“Body,” I manage. “My hands. And—” I swallow. “My stomach. It feels…wrong.”

“Okay. Hands first. Put them flat on the blanket. Feel the fabric. Notice what’s there.” The chair doesn’t creak. He’s perfectly still. Nothing changes in the room but his attention.

My fingers twitch again, weak and useless, nerves firing without permission. Fire licks at my palms, but when it fades away, the cold seeps back in.

“I can’t make them stop,” I whisper.

“You don’t need to. No one’s going to hurt you for moving. Or feeling.”