Heidi gives a weary blink. Like her brain is taking extra seconds to translate that word.
Home.
As if she's ever had one since she set foot in this pack.
Amias watches her try to stand and sway like her bones are confused about gravity. Grayson is up in an instant, catching her waist, steadying her gently. Too gently. So gently that it makes a chord in Amias's gut.
"We should carry her," Grayson says quietly.
"No," Heidi whispers, shaking her head. "I can walk."
She takes one step out of the cell. Her knees buckle, showing she's emotionally, not physically, drained. Grayson sweeps her up anyway.
She squeaks, letting out a tiny, startled sound, and grabs at his shirt like he might drop her into a void. Grayson laughs softly, but his eyes shine like they've been holding tears hostage for an hour straight.
"She's light," he mutters. "Too light."
