The next contraction ripped through her, even more violent than the last. Felicity nearly blacked out from the force of it, her hands tightening into claws around Exile's fingers. Voss counted her through the pain, his voice anchored and relentless. "Breathe for me. In count of four. Out count of four. That's it, little fox. You're not alone. We're all here."
For a moment, the world shrank to the pressure of Exile's grip, the solid weight of Ivan's hand at her skull, the steadiness of Dimitri's palm pressed against her heart, and then there was only the deep, cold focus of Voss's gaze, holding her at the center of the storm.
The contraction passed, and Felicity lay gasping, sweat and tears mixing on her cheeks as her chest heaved. She let her head fall back onto Ivan's shoulder, too wrung out to even tremble.
"What… what now?" she managed, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper.
