Caleb lifts his free hand to gently grip the back of her neck, thumb rubbing slightly. Her panic is rising like bile in his throat, and trying to swallow it down makes it feel thicker. But he can imagine the things she'd seen — probably not as clearly or vividly as she can, but he can — and it makes his stomach twist.

"Fuck, Alex," he murmurs. "That wasn't you, though."