Cian … The voice floated into her mind, tinkling and musical. I’m sorry, Cian. “W-what the fuck,” she stuttered out. She didn’t know that voice. “L-let go.” “I … can’t.” He was breathing even heavier, his fingers starting to shake against her shoulder. Cian … I’m sorry. “Ashford!” She tried to pry his arm off. He was too big, and his trembling was actually shaking through her chest. “Fuck,” he gasped. “I can’t.” He’s having a panic attack. The voice in her head was louder this time, more insistent. Help him. Help my Cian
