Evan doesn't seem to hear any of it. He's curled into himself, shoulders heaving with each broken inhale, fingers still clawed into his chest. His shirt is soaked through at the collar. His face is paler than you've ever seen it — pale like paper, pale like something that's slipping away.

Your brother reaches for him, but Evan flinches — a violent, full-body jerk — and your brother's hands fall back, helpless.

The sentence dies. Your brother looks at you, and there's something broken in his eyes.

Evan's breath hitches — a sharp, choked sound — and his hand flies to his throat again, fingers pressing against his own skin like he's trying to claw the air in. His whole body trembles, shaking apart at the seams.