When her breath hitches on what sounds to be the beginning of a sob, I know something is very wrong. “Paedyn,” I say softly. The taste of her name is intoxicating on my tongue. “Paedyn, are you listening to me?” “When am I ever,” she pants, “listening to you?” I smile to myself. “Are your knees against your chest?” “What?” she huffs. “Yes. Yes, my knees are against my chest.” “All right,” I say slowly. “I want you to listen to me for once in your life and put your legs on the floor. Spread them out as much as you can.” “Why would I—” “Listening, remember?”
