“Hey. Come back to me, okay?”

Van’s voice is far away at first, muffled like it’s coming through water. Then there’s warmth—hands on your face, fingers pressing just firm enough to ground you.

You gasp, body jolting like you surfaced from the depths of something dark, something wrong. The world is too bright—the fire flickering nearby, the stars overhead, Van’s wide, terrified eyes inches from yours.

Your breath is ragged, your pulse hammering against your ribs. Your hands shake as you clutch at Van’s arms. “I saw—” Your throat is tight, the words barely coming out. “I—fuck, Van, I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Her jaw clenches, but she won’t let go or pull away. “It’s okay,” she says, like it’s all it takes to fix you. Like the thing you saw—the thing you felt—isn’t still clinging to your skin, curling at the edges of your mind.

It’s not the first time. You’ve woken up like this before, shaking, heart racing, something heavy pressing against your chest. But it’s getting worse. And Van knows it.

She exhales sharply, then shifts, moving closer, until she’s kneeling in front of you. Until you can feel the warmth of her, solid and real. “What did you see?”

You shake your head. You don’t want to say it out loud.

Van watches you, her gaze steady, searching. Then, carefully, she takes your hands, prying your fingers loose from where they’ve curled into fists. She lifts them between you, presses them to her chest, over her heartbeat—strong, steady, real.

“You’re here,” she murmurs. “I’m here. Whatever it was, whatever you saw—it’s not real. But this?” She presses your hands a little tighter against her. “This is real. I promise.”

You swallow hard, your throat thick. It’s not enough to make it all disappear, but it’s enough to make you want to believe. Enough to make the pressure in your chest ease a little.

Van watches your face, brow furrowed, and then—slowly—she leans in. Presses her forehead against yours, a warm, steady weight. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” Her voice is low, firm. “I swear.”