It's not very easy to shock him. He's seen... a lot. He's seen more than most people, even ones steeped in the supernatural. He's seen some fucked up shit even when held in comparison to the rest of the Summoned, all of whom have been pulled into an entirely new world.

It's hard to stagger him, but if anybody could...

She does it when she threads her fingers through his, and he can feel it. His heart gives a sharp, painful lurch. It rends him from sternum to stomach. He nearly chokes.

He's seen her since her coma — in dreams, in visions, in hallucinations. He's seen her mainly when his mind is altered, his consciousness dulled and dampened by drugs, by alcohol, by sleeplessness. He's stone-cold sober now, he's as well rested as he ever gets, there's nothing to mute this. Nothing to turn her into a dreamlike, hazy wonder.

There's just the jagged edges of harsh reality, and her palms, soft as he remembers.

He follows like a well-trained dog on a lead, slow steps crunching on glass, then stone, then grass. Stunned into silence, and afraid that the first indication of resistance might somehow ruin- whatever this is.

"Why- how... How are you here? Is it- am I dead?"