Page 114 of Anchor
And deep in the dark, he reached.
IN THE DARK – ONE HOUR LATER
It wasn’t control. Not exactly.
It was more like falling in reverse, like the moment before a dream crashes into your body. He didn’t know how to move, but something within him did. The hand. The hand. He knew it was there. He could feel it, warm and curled gently around his own.
He aimed all the force he could muster toward that hand. Not speech. Not thought. Just one raw command flooding everything inside him. He pushed.
Hold on.
Claire was still whisperingwhen it happened. Not a full word and not a scream. Just a twitch. Her eyes snapped to his hand. Nothing moved again. She stared at the spot, at his curled fingers resting against her palm. Then the pinky shifted, barely but deliberately.
Her heart slammed once against her ribs. She blinked and leaned closer. “Reid?” There was no response. But the twitch was real. It wasn’t a spasm; it wasn’t a reflex. It was a reach.
She hit the call button with the back of her hand. “Someone,” she said into the mic. “Get in here.”
She turned back, breath held. Her hand tightened slightly over his. His pinky moved again. This time toward her.
ROOM 218 – 1000 HOURS
His pinky moved again. Once. Then stilled. Claire didn’t breathe. Didn’t even blink. The air in the room had shifted, just slightly, like something had exhaled for the first time in weeks.
She didn’t speak his name again. She didn’t push. She just stayed anchored, her hand over his, her fingers still.You move when you’re ready, she’d told him. Maybe he had. Maybe he was.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, barely audible. “I felt it. You don’t have to do it again yet. Just… stay with me.”
His brow didn’t furrow. His eyes didn’t open. But something in his breathing changed. Not in rate, but in weight. Like his body had just remembered itself.
Claire’s throat tightened. She pressed her forehead to the edge of the mattress, eyes shut. “I’m right here.” She heard the door open behind her.
“Claire?” Seth’s voice was controlled but sharper than usual.
She didn’t look back. “His hand. Left side. Twice. Deliberate.”
Seth crossed the room in seconds. She stepped aside but stayed close.
Seth pressed two fingers to Reid’s wrist. “Pulse unchanged. No adrenaline spike.” Then he leaned in, his voice lowered. “Reid. Reid, can you hear me? If you can, try to move again. Any finger. Left hand. Right hand. Doesn’t matter.”
Nothing.
Seth pulled a small penlight from his coat and checked pupil response. Still sluggish but not absent. “Stimulating him again,” he said, more to himself. He opened a tray and pulled out a small sensory tool, a weighted wand tipped with rubber. He touched it gently to Reid’s sternum. “Reid, that’s pressure. Respond if you feel it.”
Stillness. Then there was a flutter, an eyelid tremor. Seth’s tone changed instantly. “Claire, did you see that?”
“I saw it.”
He stood upright, sharp now. “We’re running a new panel. I’ll page Sita. Full neuro-check in the next twenty. He may be starting emergence. If it continues through this evening, we push Phase 2.”
Claire’s hands were trembling, her eyes damp. She gripped the edge of Reid’s bed again. Not his hand this time—she didn’t want to overwhelm him. But she stayed close. “You’re doing it. I know you are.”
Behind her, Seth was already on the move, calling the nurses’ station, issuing orders, directing the new trajectory. But Claire didn’t move. She stayed right there, still and waiting.
IN THE DARK
It came again, the voice. The tone was soft, familiar and urgent without panic. “I’m right here.” He couldn’t name her. But her presence was like a current against his skin, something gravitational, something he’d once trusted with everything.
The dark wasn’t as deep as it had been. Shapes formed in the void: scattered light, shifting pressure, the heavy feel of breath and then pain. It wasn’t sharp or dangerous but a soft burn against his chest. A finger? A prod? It left heat behind.
