I didn't speak to Draven for the first hour of the drive back.
Couldn't. My throat was too tight and my hands wouldn't stop shaking and if I opened my mouth I was pretty sure I'd scream or cry or both.
He'd bet himself. Traded his freedom for an alliance we might not even be able to use if the demon killed us all first.
And he'd done it without even asking me.
The anger was easier than the fear so I let it burn, let it fill my chest where grief wanted to live, and stared out the window while trees blurred past and my brain kept replaying Lysander's smile when Draven agreed.
"Selene." Draven's voice was quiet. "You need to breathe."
"I'm breathing." The words came out sharp.
"You're hyperventilating."
Was I? My chest felt tight enough that breathing seemed optional, that thing where your lungs forget they're supposed to expand and contract and you have to manually remind them.
I forced air in through my nose. Out through my mouth. Repeat.
It didn't help.
