He called as though that name would never, ever be forgotten.
"Linnie," Bryer called again, his eyes matching the desperation in his tone. "You are really here."
His lips were about curl into a fond excitement when a voice broke the illusion.
"Bryer!?" Clara called softly.
He blinked and looked again, only to see Clara standing there, her brows furrowed in clear discomfort.
His brows twisted as well. The same unease stirred in his heart —the kind that always surfaced whenever he thought of Adelyn.
"Ahh–" Clara winced, trying to pull her hand from Bryer's grip. "Can you let go? It's hurting me."
Only then did Bryer realize that he had been holding her hand and his fingers were curled too tightly around his wrist.
"I am sorry," he said at once, releasing her. "I didn't notice."
Clara rubbed her hands, trying to soothe the sting. "It's fine. It doesn't hurt anymore."
