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Khalani stared at the speckles of sand, nearly drooling as Takeshi methodically kneaded her muscles.

Who knew hands of death could wring such peace?

“What’s wrong with her?” Brock asked, his voice laced with irritation.

“Go ahead. We’ll be behind you,” Takeshi ordered, focusing solely on Khalani, his fingers maintaining blissful pressure on her nape.

“We need to keep moving, Steele. If you can’t help her, I’ll carry her myself.”

“Back off,” Takeshi growled. “You’re not doing anything with an injured arm. If she needs to be carried, I’ll do it.”

“I think I’m feeling better,” she whispered, but her gaze didn’t leave the misshapen rock in the sand.

How long had the lone rock been there? Was she the first to notice it? To give it one hundred percent of her attention?

Maybe that was all anyone ever wanted—to be truly seen and not just a fading object in the background.

“We’ll catch up. Go,” Takeshi commanded, leaving no room for argument in his tone. She heard the others mumble but eventually walk away, leaving her and Takeshi alone.

And she realized this was the closest they’d been in days.

“You’re holding your breath,” he observed.

“Not so easy to breathe while you’re doing that.”

She winced when his fingers dug deeper into her skin, working out a large knot from carrying the heavy backpack for miles.

“You can take it,” Takeshi stated.

Khalani swallowed, his words and steady fingers doing strange things to her erratic pulse. “I’m okay now.”

“You sure?”

No.

Taking a full breath was arduous, and her temples ached as if someone were digging their fingers into her brain. But if she continued to sit there like mush in Takeshi’s hands, she might not get back up.

“Yes.”

Takeshi released his hold and stepped back. She stood, inhaling deeply as a bead of sweat dripped from the tip of her nose to the ground. Khalani briefly turned to the spot where the Governor had been.

The sheer nothingness mocked her. Miles of sand and faraway mountains were all that stared back.

Perhaps the baking sun was playing cruel tricks on her mind.

Yesterday, Khalani pointed toward a pool of water glistening on the concrete. She licked her dry lips and hastily marched forward, but Brock roughly pulled her back by the shoulder.

“No. It’s a mirage,” he said. “It’s not real.”

Not real.

Not real.

But the Governor’s blood-filled smile was clear and vivid, like he was standing directly in front of her.

It’s not real, she chanted repeatedly. If she said the words enough, her madness would surely disappear.

It had to.