Chapter 92 – Healing Isn’t Linear

Chapter 92 – Healing Isn’t Linear
It started with nothing.

No reason. No wound.

Just the wind shifting through the trees and the sudden, breathless ache in my chest like the air had thickened into something I couldn’t swallow.

I was in the woods behind the cottage, collecting dried mint and lavender sprigs. The morning had been calm. Clear skies. Sun warm on my back. Everything fine.

Until it wasn’t.

My hands shook before I even realized they were moving.

The basket slipped from my arm and hit the ground.

I stood there, frozen, as my pulse began to race—fast and sharp, like footsteps pounding through my veins. My knees weakened. My lungs tightened.

Nothing was wrong.

But I couldn’t breathe.

Not fully. Not deeply.

It felt like drowning on dry land.

And I hated myself for it.

I pressed a hand to my chest. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

But my body didn’t believe me.

My mind went to dark places, fast—places I hadn’t visited in months. The old images resurfaced like bruises: the judgment hall. The fire. The pyre. Kade’s blade raised. Screams. Smoke. The taste of betrayal.

My breath caught. I staggered back against a tree and sank to the forest floor, arms around my knees, trying to steady myself. I felt small. Useless. Embarrassed.

And then I heard the crunch of boots on leaves.

“Kade,” I choked out before I could see him.

He came running, voice tight with worry. “Lyra?”

I couldn’t look at him.

He dropped beside me anyway, hands hovering before he dared to touch.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

I shook my head violently. “No. I don’t know. I— I can’t—breathe.”

“Okay. Okay. I’ve got you.” His hands found mine, grounding, solid. “Look at me.”

I tried. His face blurred, smeared with sunlight and fear.

“Breathe with me,” he said. “In. Right now. Just in.”

I followed his voice.

“In through your nose… hold it… good. Now out.”

My lungs obeyed in small, jagged bursts.

He squeezed my hand. “You’re not dying. You’re panicking. There’s a difference.”

“I hate this,” I gasped.

“I know.”

“I don’t know why. Everything’s okay.”

“Sometimes that’s when it hits hardest,” he said quietly. “When your body finally stops bracing. That’s when it lets the ghosts out.”

A tear slipped down my cheek. “I thought I was past this.”

He shook his head. “Healing isn’t a straight line, Lyra. You know that.”

“I wanted to be better. For you.”

“For me?” He pulled me closer. “Lyra, love… you never have to be anything other than exactly where you are.”

His arms came around me, careful but firm, as if he were holding a cracked thing that still deserved to be held.

“I’m supposed to be stronger than this.”

“You are strong,” he said. “Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. And strong doesn’t mean untouched.”

I let him rock me gently, the tremors still quaking in my chest but no longer threatening to swallow me whole.

“I feel broken,” I whispered.

“You’re not.” His voice was fierce now. “You’re healing. And healing is ugly and messy and hard. But it’s not weakness. It’s work.”

He held me until the storm passed.

Until my lungs stopped gasping like they’d forgotten how to live.

Until I remembered I wasn’t alone.

We walked back slowly.

My legs were shaky, and I hated that I leaned on him more than I wanted to. But Kade didn’t mention it. He didn’t rush me.

When we reached the cottage, he sat me down with a blanket and pressed a warm mug into my hands. I didn’t even ask how he had it ready so fast.

“I used to have them too,” he said after a while, voice low, steady. “Panic attacks.”

I glanced up.

“After Ronan. After the camp. Sometimes even before that. I’d wake up choking. Or freeze in broad daylight for no reason at all. Back then, I thought it was weakness too.”

“What changed?” I asked.

He leaned back, eyes on the fire. “You.”

I stared at him.

“You showed me it was okay to fall apart,” he said. “And that you could still lead, still live, even if you weren’t always put together.”

I swallowed hard.

“I guess we’re still learning to carry each other’s weight,” I murmured.

“We always will be.”

I took a deep breath. This time, it came easy.

Full.

Real.

Kade reached for my hand.

And I let him hold it.

Because I wasn’t broken.

I was healing.

Even if I had to remember it one breath at a time.