Adam couldn't answer for a second because his body was still catching up to the idea that the fire had finally stopped eating him alive. The room felt too warm and too still. His skin was sensitive in that post-storm way, as if everything had been turned inside out and allowed to dry.
He was in Max's arms, and that was questionable at best.
Max's chest rose against Adam's back, stabilizing Adam's breathing rhythm through sheer proximity. His scent was everywhere, and it was now laced with something that made Adam's instincts settle instead of claw.
Adam's eyelids fluttered. He realized his hands weren't shaking anymore.
That should have been relief.
It was.
It was also annoying, because being relieved meant admitting Max had helped.
Adam shifted slightly, testing his limbs. His throat worked once, like he was swallowing pride along with air.
"Don't," he managed finally, his voice scraped raw.
Max's arms tightened a fraction. "Don't what?"
