White coats.
Voices that were not kind.
Hands that had touched me because they could, because I was a body on a table and bodies on tables did not get opinions.
My fingers folded in my lap, one over the other, pressing hard enough to hurt.
I told myself I was fine.
My body, dramatic b***h that it was, disagreed.
Aiden noticed.
His gaze snapped to my face, then to my hands, then to my throat, like he could map panic by pressure points alone. His whole body went still in that controlled, terrifying way of his, the one that made him look almost calm until you realized calm was just where he kept the knives.
Keres noticed next.
His smile died so completely it left something colder behind. No joke. No smirk. Only blue at the edge of his eyes and Samael pressing forward with the kind of
