“I’m here,” Em said, when Gyre’s stomach had quieted and her chest had stopped seizing. The suit shifted again, just a little, just enough that it felt as if there was a hand on her shoulder. Without her faceplate, Gyre couldn’t see her, but it didn’t matter. The sight of her meant almost nothing compared to the feeling, undeniable and real, that she was there, at Camp Six, holding Gyre. It didn’t matter that she was using Gyre’s prison to do it, or that Gyre’s skin remained untouched, or that Gyre still had to climb out. There, in that moment, the most important fact was that Em was with her.
