Clay shifts again.
More this time.
A faint tension in his shoulders.
A pull in his hand—
Still wrapped in mine.
I hadn’t even realized I was still holding it.
I don’t let go.
“Come on,” I murmur. “You’ve made it this far. Don’t stop now.”
His brow furrows.
Just slightly.
Like he’s trying to push through something.
Through the pain.
Through the dark.
“Clay.”
I lean closer.
Close enough that my voice doesn’t have to carry.
“You’re safe,” I tell him. “Do you hear me? You’re out. You made it.”
A breath.
Rough.
Uneven.
But real.
My chest tightens.
Relief hits—sharp and sudden—but I force it down.
Not yet.
Not until I know he’s fully—
His fingers tighten around mine.
Not a twitch.
Not a reflex.
A grip.
Weak.
