Page 7 of The Next Lie

Ever’s face stays calm, but there is strain around his eyes. “Look at me.”

His eyes are dark in the streetlight. Steady. Not soft exactly. Ever is rarely soft. But he is present in a way the rest of the world isn’t.

“In,” he says.

I stare at him.

He lifts one hand, palm turned slightly toward himself, fingers curling once in a slow count.

“In for four.” He breathes in.

I try. The first breath stutters and fails.

“Again,” he says.

I shake my head harder. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I can’t.”

His jaw tightens. “You can because I’m doing it with you.”

Ever breathes in again, slow enough for me to follow if I can make my lungs obey.

“One,” he says. “Two. Three. Four.”

I pull air in. It scrapes. It hurts. But it goes in.

“Hold.”

I hold because he does.

“One. Two. Three. Four.”

My chest burns.

“Out.”

He exhales slowly. I follow late. Messy. Too fast at the end.

“Good.”

The word almost undoes me.

Good. A phone pressed to my ear. A woman’s voice, warm as honey over rot. That’s my good girl.

Pain knifes through my head. I gasp and lose the rhythm.

Ever catches my face between both hands.

“Here,” he says. His thumbs rest along my jaw. His hands are warm. Callused. Real. “You’re here.”

I blink at him, tears sliding into the corners of my mouth.

“She’s alive,” I whisper.

“I know.”