Cold. Silence. Hands on my arms. Cold again. Voices I hear but can not understand. Hands again. On my arms, my head. I am pulled under an arm in an embrace I am sure is supposed to make me feel better. It doesn't.

I don't feel anything except the sinking in my chest and my heart pumping the blood through my veins, hard and fast. I hear it muffled in my ears.

The civil militia just told us the news. Rhett was nowhere in Herald to be found. This was their final effort.

My big brother is not coming home.

My lungs burn from lack of oxygen. This isn't my first panic attack, but I've never had one this intense.

Someone--I think it's Mom--sits me down in one of our plush living chairs. Her lips move as if she's speaking to me, but I don't hear words. I hear Rhett telling me to run. Over and over and over again.

Run, Sophie!

Run!

Run!

And then I hear the crack of his skull hitting the woodland floor. I can only see the Outlander hovering over him.

Then I see the leaf-littered ground blur as I run away from Rhett and his assailant.

"Breathe, honey." Dad's voice breaks through the rumination, interrupting my compulsive focus. I try to take a breath, but it comes out a sharp, shuddering intake of a very small amount of air. The pressure in my chest lifts ever so slightly.

Why did I ever leave him?

◊ ◊ ◊

I don't realize my whole body is trembling until Luke leans down, placing a hand on my knee. I look down at my hands, shaking like leaves in a hurricane.

"Are you alright?" Luke asks. The concern in his voice fuels my panic. It sounds wrong. Everything is wrong. We should not be out here. We should have had shelter for the night. We are losing sunlight. There is dirt caked beneath my fingernails.

I can't breathe.

The heaviness in my chest reaches a point to where I feel lightheaded, as if I'm on the verge of fainting.

As if realizing what is happening, Luke kneels next to me on the ground and slips his hand from my knee to my chin, gently lifting my eyes to his.

"It's okay, we will figure it out," he promises. I can feel his breath on my cheek. "I need you to breathe, Sophie." I focus on the brightness of his irises, forever deep and impossibly green. Crisp green apples and pears in Market Circle. Ticklish blades of grass on my toes. Minty winter. I inhale.

I borrow Luke's calm, steadfast demeanor as I suck in quick, shaky breaths. The stone on my chest begins to evaporate one bit at a time.

The next thing I know, Luke is crushing me to his chest, squeezing my shoulders. The solid pressure is a surprising security, and I find myself leaning into him, craving his warmth.

"There you go," he speaks softly next to my ear. My body trembles within the circle of his arms, and he runs his hand up and down my spine. With each sweep, he coaxes my muscles to relax and eventually, the shaking ceases.

We stay like that for a moment, until my breaths become steady and my heart rate beats at a less alarming pace. Luke's hands light on the small of my back, supportive. Calming. But at the same time, exciting.

"Better?" he murmurs, his voice taking up the small space between us. Yes, perfect. But I am unable to command my mouth to form the words. I'm afraid to look at him. Scared to fracture the delicate moment. I find solace in the well-worn threads of his shirt, the fabric soft against my cheek. The heart beating strongly beneath it.

Too soon his hands leave me, pulling away only to grip my shoulders lightly. He looks down at me, examining my face with worried eyes.

"What can I do, Sophie?" Luke's voice is low and soothing. An electric tingle sparks my consciousness when I realize that this is the first time he's spoken my name.

"I'm sorry," I croak. It's fascinating, watching his eyebrows knit a picture of confusion.

"No," he admonishes. "You have nothing to apologize for." His thumb caresses the skin of my shoulder. "I've had them too. It is not some flaw you must be sorry for."

My breath threatens to leave me again. "You? You've had panic attacks?"

His features go still for a moment, then he shrugs. "When you are the Summus' only son, there is a lot to be expected of you."

He looks to the west where the sun is shrinking behind the trees and sighs. "Help me secure our surroundings and I will tell you all about it. Anything you want to know."

I jump at the chance to be useful, but Luke offering to talk to me about anything is an added bonus, even if I see through his attempts at distraction.

After helping me up, we scour the surrounding forest for any signs of fresh tracks and spread Sol's pepper deterrent. I can tell we aren't being as thorough as Luke wants to because of the low light. Apparently, we can't have a fire this evening either. It may attract unwanted attention when we have no shelter. No safe haven.

When we get back to our makeshift camp, Luke rolls out our bedrolls in the shadow of the dilapidated building. The placement shields us from the breeze so the wind doesn't carry our scent far. Luke thinks of every littlest detail to ensure our safety in such dire circumstances.

By the time we settle down for dinner, it's pitch dark outside. As we share the roasted rabbit and drink from our canteens, I think of the questions I'd like for him to answer.

I swallow my last bite of the tough meat, and decide to just breach the subject. "What kind of duties do you have? As the Subter?" I ask, curious to know more about their society, but also him.

He smirks. "Do you want to know what I am supposed to do, or what I actually do?" I figured he had a rebellious streak, the way he opposed his father back in Keir.

"Both," I grin.

Laying back on his elbows, he looks to the sky, as if searching its dark endless depths for the answers. "As the heir, I am supposed to follow my father around and pretend I am just like him. Sit in on advisor meetings, oversee crop production, introduce various economical and defensive strategies, and sit on my big throne acting untouchable." He lowers his gaze to my face, looking for my reaction. "What I really do is spend less amount of time sitting and talking about change, and actually doing it."

He sits up, impassioned by the line of conversation. "Our people are living in fear, on the verge of starvation, with a dropping population. All due to one thing." He looks at me pointedly, encouraging me to say what is on the tip of my tongue.

"The Skinwalkers," I mumble. There is a sea-green ocean of emotion in his eyes. This is a problem that he's trying to solve alone, one that took his mother and left him in a world where nothing is safe.

"I go out and hunt the woods that are more dangerous, simply to save a family from starving this winter. I want to fight the Skinwalkers instead of just waiting for another attack." He brushes a hand down his face, worry tainting his features. "It has been getting worse. I have to travel farther and farther these days for big game. I'm always on the road... my father does not understand, much less share my opinion on the matter."

My heart is breaking for this man, doing everything he can to help his people, but it never being enough. I get it. Completely.

"You and your father could not be more different," I offer, remembering the manipulative look in the Summus' eyes when he blackmailed me into going on this mission. It was nothing like how Luke looks at me now.

"He really thinks you can help us," he muses. "No offense, but I don't see how."

I grin at that. Finally, something we agree on. "I have no idea either," I answer, not the least bit offended. "But I will try to help."

He sighs, "It was wrong of him to use your friend." I realize then that I'm not doing this just for Markee. I have an overwhelming drive to help Luke too.

The next question burns my tongue in its eagerness.. I don't want to overstep any boundaries, but I am so terribly curious.

"As the heir, do you have, you know..." I clear my throat, nervous, "...a betrothed?"