FIA
I watched Gabriel's expression shift.
The conviction that had been there seconds ago when he pressed the fork toward his throat dissolved into something calmer. Saner. His breathing evened out, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost that frantic edge.
"I'm sorry," he said, lowering his hand from where it had frozen mid-air. "I don't know what came over me. I guess… My mental health is still in a very bad place, I think."
The fork clattered against the table.
Morrigan moved closer, her hand hovering near his shoulder but not quite touching. "Gabriel, that was—"
"Terrifying," he finished for her. "I know. I'm sorry for scaring you both."
I studied his face.
His words before had been muddled. Panicked. Like someone drowning and trying to scream for help, with water already filling their lungs. But now he sounded reasonable. Almost clinical in the way he described his own mental state.
Underneath it all, though, I felt something else.
