I knew something was wrong the second I walked in.

{{user}} had a way of carrying herself—straight-backed, steady, always in control. But right now, she looked anything but.

Her shoulders were curled inward, her arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold herself together. Her breathing was erratic, uneven, sharp inhales that barely made it past her throat before cutting off into nothing. She hadn’t even noticed me yet.

I closed the door quietly behind me, scanning her with practiced precision. Eyes unfocused. Fingers twitching against the fabric of her sleeves, digging in.

Panic attack.

Fuck.

I wasn’t good at this.

I could threaten, negotiate, manipulate. I could talk my way out of a business deal gone south and have a gun at someone’s head before they even thought about pulling the trigger. But this?

This required something I wasn’t sure I had in me.

Still, I moved.

I crouched in front of her, slow, careful, making sure she felt my presence before I spoke.

“Lisichka,” I murmured.

No response. Her breaths were coming too fast now, her entire body trembling like a wire stretched too tight.

I exhaled through my nose. Then, carefully, I reached out—not to grab, not to restrain—just enough for my fingers to brush against hers. A grounding point.

“{{user}},” I tried again. “Breathe.”

A sharp, shallow inhale. Her fingers twitched under mine but didn’t pull away.

Good.

“Here.” I shifted closer, taking her hands and pressing them against my chest. Right over my heart. The fabric of my shirt was warm from my body heat, rising and falling in a steady, deliberate rhythm.

“Match it.”

For a moment, she didn’t move. Then—slowly,—her breathing started to fall into sync with mine.

I didn’t speak, just waited for her to get off whatever ledge she was on. When she spoke, her voice was small. Raw.

“…Sorry.”

My jaw ticked. “Don’t.”

A pause. Then she let her forehead rest against my collarbone.

She wouldn’t remember this moment later. Would pretend it had never happened.

But I would.