her chest lurched before her mind caught up. that voice— low and gravel-soft way—it split the haze around her like a match to dry grass. twitch’s breath hitched as she pushed herself halfway up, eyes wide and glass-bright, darting toward him with that hungry, disbelieving look.
cole?
it fell out of her sharp and ragged, desperate. her heart clawed at her ribs, bird soaring big in her chest. it was impossible. she knew it was impossible, and still her chest snapped tight. it was so stupid, so fucking stupid, but she peeled herself up anyway.
her eyes met him. for a split second, she didn’t breathe. all she could see was cole. the shape was right. the size. the voice. even the stance, old and weather-worn. god, it was so close—but her eyes betrayed her. the coat wasn’t right in the light, and his face—she didn’t know his face. and he didn't know hers.
oh.
something behind her eyes cracked. without another word, she laid herself back down: head on the dirt, the earth swallowing the shape of her again like nothing had happened at all.
her voice, when it came again, was low, flattened out, like the color had been sucked clean from it. i'm fine.