I cared only that there was a vacant chair, into which I collapsed with trembling legs, still struggling—stupidly, wretchedly—to breathe, spots dancing in the edges of my vision. Though the floor was bare stone, Caethari knelt beside me, placing a warm hand on my arm. “Breathe in,” he murmured, and somehow I complied, holding the breath until he gave a gentle squeeze and said, “Breathe out.” I hated that it worked; hated that I needed it at all, and yet it did, and I did, and despite the shame I let him soothe me, following his soft instructions until my vision cleared and my chest stopped
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