[ An odd kind of shudder runs through her when his arms enclose her, as if something in her body that had shaken loose falls into place and settles there. She rests her hands flat against his chest, the side of her face above them, and she takes in a long breath that drains some of the tension from her on its exhale.

It is two more such breaths before she answers. It is in Trade again, the edge of hysteria gone from her voice when she speaks. ]

I cannot tell when I am, sometimes. If my heart is feeling what belongs to the present or the past.

Sometimes when I am most afraid that you are leaving, I can feel silk velvet balled up in my hands. It is not of the moment we are in. Perhaps even the fear is not. If I do not have something of now, someone to keep me here, it is so easy to slip away to somewhere else where it is worse and bring all of what is there back with me.