Yates Donovan held back, careful not to squeeze too tightly. He just loosely wrapped his arms around her, offering support.
Mia Grant was the one who had reached for him, her hand—which she had scratched raw—gripping his forearm in a death grip.
She leaned against his chest, panting, her heart racing wildly. Her words were broken, not even forming sentences.
"I… I… your knife…"
"Caught… him."
"Didn't… see."
"I'm okay. I'm okay."
She had mumbled a lot of fragmented things before that, which Yates couldn't piece together.
Probably realizing she couldn't form a complete sentence, she just kept repeating, "I'm okay."
At first, Yates thought she was trying to calm herself down.
Only later did he understand she was telling *him* that she was okay.
Trying to put him at ease.
