Dejah's breath hitches and she catches her lower lip between her teeth. Her own fingertips keep contact with his forearms, new and old, pausing only to lightly caress the deep scar just below his elbow.

Her eyelids flutter shut and she can feel herself reaching for him in that space between. That space she's known only as a cold void, an hollow place haunted by memories. It's the faintest of impressions, but it's warm and it's solid and she knows it's him.

He traces over the years of her life, like he could read her story with just the tips of his fingers. Breathe. Just breathe.