Page 177 of The Next Lie

“Hold.”

I hold. Her thumb presses once against my wrist.

“Out.”

I exhale.

The ballroom does not disappear. The exits stay where they are. The threat remains. Mother Superior remains. The distance between outside and beside her remains.

But Reva is in front of me. Her hand is on my pulse.

And for one breath, I am not the only one keeping count.

“Again,” she says.

So I do it again.

When I finish the second breath, she looks up at me.

“Now give me the pin,” she says, “and stop trying to predict every possible future before we get there.”

“I can’t.”

Her thumb moves once against my wrist. “I know.”

Shiloh tilts his head. “This is the part where I would usually suggest a drink, a nap, or some other kind of coping strategy.”

Reva looks at him. Then at me. Something shifts in her expression. Heat moves in before I can name it.

“No drink,” she says.

Shiloh’s mouth curves. “No?”

“No nap either.”

My body understands before my head catches up.

“Reva.”

She lifts the hairpin and sets it carefully on the nearest bench. Then she reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head.

My thoughts stutter to a halt. Shiloh inhales softly beside me.

Reva drops the shirt onto the mat and stands there in a black sports bra and leggings, cheeks flushed from training, eyes fixed on mine.

“You’re spiraling,” she says.

“I’m managing risk.”

“You’re spiraling.”

Shiloh’s voice goes lower. “She may be right.”

I shoot him a look.

He smiles. “Tragic when it happens.”

Reva steps closer again. “The tag team thing.”