Page 135 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
"Vanessa, your breathing pattern suggests—"
"I can't stop feeling it." She cuts me off. Her path becomes increasingly erratic.
"The gas. Not being able to breathe. Slate. The attack. It's all connected and I should have seen it coming. I could have prevented—" Her words dissolve into rapid, shallow breaths.
Rapid breathing. Increasing agitation. Panic attack coming.
My phone rings. Kade. Operational protocols dictate immediate response to command.
Vanessa flinches violently at the sound. Covers her ears with both hands. She drops to the floor, knees hitting hard. A sound between a whimper and a moan escapes her.
Decision matrix: answer phone versus stabilize Vanessa.
I answer. Eyes never leaving her huddled form.
"Frost." Kade's voice comes through. "Slate's agreed to help us trap Tatiana. We need you at—"
"Acknowledged." I cut him off as Vanessa begins rocking back and forth. Arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her mouth moves, forming silent words I can't interpret. "Situation developing here. Will contact with ETA."
"Is she—"
"Not stable. Will update." I end the call and move closer to Vanessa. Scan for the optimal intervention approach.
Tactical solutions don't apply. Neither do standard comfort protocols. This is uncharted territory. The uncertainty creates unfamiliar pressure in my chest.
I drop my phone on the couch. Irrelevant now.
Vanessa rocks faster. Her fingernails dig into her upper arms. Her breathing comes in sharp, ragged gasps. The sound reminds me of drowning. Lungs fighting for air that won't come.
This frantic energy, this mental spin—Sarah's death taught me what drowning in your own thoughts looks like.
I kneel before her. Eighteen inches distance between us. Close enough to engage. Far enough to prevent additional distress.
"Vanessa." The tone I reserve for high-risk operations. Clear. Authoritative. "Look at me."
Her eyes dart everywhere except toward me. Pupils dilated. Unfocused. She continues rocking, gasping. Her fingernails draw small crescents of blood on her arms.
The standard approach isn't working. Comfort doesn't apply here. Her mind is like a computer running too many programs at once. Overheating without an emergency shutdown protocol.
What worked for me, after Sarah? Structure. Boundaries. Physical concentration to override mental chaos.
I move closer. Decision made.
"Vanessa." Firmer this time. "I need to ground you. Do you understand?"
Her lips move. Words that barely escape. "Can't... concentrate... everything's... wrong..."
Her hands shake violently. Critical threshold approaching. Brain oxygen levels decreasing.
No more analysis. Time for action.
"I'll get you somewhere calmer. Then I'll give you something specific to anchor on that should help."
Her frantic movements pause. Brief, almost imperceptible, but there. The first positive sign in hours.
I move forward. Gauge her reactions with tactical attention. Without hesitation, I slide one arm beneath her knees, the other supporting her back, and lift her against my chest.
Vanessa Reyes, whose personality had always seemed twice her physical size, now curls into me like a wounded bird. Something protective and fierce builds in my chest. It pushes out the helplessness from moments ago.
