He winced hard, rolling his shoulder, whole face tightening as his body ground and popped in a way that sounded brutal.
“Ugh,” he muttered through his teeth. “This is what I get for being old.”
Despite everything, a weak laugh escaped me. It surprised us.
He glanced at me, and for a second, neither of us said anything.
But the rest of it came back. All of it. Fast and depressing.
His expression changed too. The tired humor drained from his face, and something harder settled in its place—heavier. Reality pressing down on both of us, filling the space with everything we’d tried to outrun by falling asleep.
He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly through his nose.
“You okay?” he asked.
Quieter now. More careful. Like he didn’t want the actual answer.
I nodded.
“I think so.”
For a moment, we sat there.
Listening.
Waiting.
The aquarium swished around us. The door held. Shut. Locked. Unmoved.
Nothing had changed. Nothing had gotten in.
I didn’t understand why that made it worse.
I pushed myself to my feet, every muscle protesting.
The room swayed. I had to catch myself against the wall, palm flat on cold concrete, and wait for the dizziness to pass. My whole body seemed tired—drained, wrung out, like I’d run for miles instead of surviving a night on the floor.
Callan was still sitting against the door, one knee bent, rubbing the back of his neck with a grimace that said he was hurting worse than he’d admit.
I held my hand out to him.
He looked at it for a second; something flickered across hisface—not quite surprise, but close. Like the gesture caught him off guard.
But he took it.
His hands were rough beneath mine. Warm. Solid.
I tightened my grip and pulled.
He stood with a low grunt, his face tightening as his shoulder moved through the movement.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Remind me never to do that again.”
“You’re not that old,” I said.
He gave me a look.
“I feel that old.”