A faint tightening at his back told him that fingers were gripping at the tails of his coat. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing only a bonnet that faced directly between his shoulder blades. “What are you doing back there?” he asked, his voice only slightly less strangled than he felt. “Hiding,” she bit out in a surprisingly weak tone. “How bad is it?” He somehow managed a smile. “How do you know it’s bad?” Her fingers tightened their hold on his fabric. “You inhaled like you were drowning. I couldn’t move when I heard that, so please, tell me… are we going to die?”
