s a second too

which runs along my skin as a silent alert. Not a

ing for my breath, looking for a logic to a

looks

ys no

re is a disorder tha

where it

kidnapper

ch my

re you

jaw contracts. I see the fi

axi

fter than I wo

ires s

n't want

tiny space where it is no longer this cold and controll

't go

to unde

ference that he persists in carrying. There is something behind his eyes

the trut

e his fingers tense slight

l not change an

as if he was fighting against somet

one mor

change e

away, as if he weighed the pros and cons. T

st the

rt tig

Ho

houlders lowering slightly under the in

ed. Becau

I hear in his voice. It's something darker, deepe

axi

enly, cutting me a

try to u

already

mething indefinable, a tension that o

. Detach me f

I ca

t

tself has stood out. A feeling of discomfort invades me, a feeling that something is wrong.

s where I

cr

Something more primary, more visceral, as a s

e of panic invades me, mixed with a strange need to understand. From an irratio

whisper that tears me away. I know he's not just dreaming. He is

ands trembling with hesitation. Should I enter? Should I help him, despite everything? Or would it mean

el the pain in his voice, a suffering that tightens my throa

nd on the d

om. This is what I should do. But basically, I know that I

ing. The room is plunged into darkness, but I see it. He is t

y which seems to be playing behind his closed eyelids. I dare not get closer.

He turns his head in my direction, his gaze crossing mine. A flash of

lnerable than ever, and that's what upsets me. I had never seen Maxime in

trembling voice, unable to

always irregular. He clears his fists on the sheets, as if it helped him stabilize, find his control

e, he said finally, th

m to be in his usual state. Not the maxim I know, this a

lost, as if he were looking for something in the dark th

an talk to me .

ghtening intensity. I see the war playing in him. He wants to push me away, he wants

d, the weak but firm voice.

right in front of him. He doesn

me. I saw it. And I can't leave

as if he was fighting so as not

t what you t

ns, pe

t's going on. Why do you have these n

urns at the bottom of his gaze. He turns away suddenly, as if he could

now, he repeats, dry.

I feel it. There is something he hides, a secret that is too

wing slightly from front to back. And yet, despite everything, somet

ards him, putting a tr

not alon

king for something in mine. The tension between us is almost unbearabl

that, Émilie, he whispers

st tightening

re to help him, but something he holds me back. Something

nothing, but I know that he is trying to escape from this

axi

ss of the house, leaving me alone with what remains