"Zara! Jesus Christ, I got you!"
Rough, heavy hands catch me in mid-air before I can slam into the floor.
The world is spinning violently in tight, nauseating circles, a gray and black blur of ceiling lights, sofa cushions, and my brother's panicked face hovering inches above mine.
My chest heaves, but I can't catch a full breath; the room feels completely devoid of oxygen.
"Zara, look at me.” His voice is sharp, cracked with a raw, unadulterated terror I’ve never heard from him in my entire life. “Hey, look at me!”
He eases me back down onto the sofa, laying me out flat against the soft cushions. He's kneeling, hovering right over me, his broad shoulders blocking out the light, his big hands cupping my cheeks, holding my head still.
His face is deathly pale, the hard, dangerous Vi
