Willow pressed her cheek against the cold tile, every muscle locked in place as if movement itself might summon attention. The floor smelled faintly of cleaner and dust, but beneath it lay something sharper, metallic, mixed with the dry bite of shattered glass. Each breath scraped through her chest, shallow and uneven, never quite filling her lungs the way it should have. Her heart beat so loudly she was certain it would betray her, a hard thudding that felt too big for her body.
The woman beside her had gone quiet. The earlier sobs had collapsed into shallow, trembling breaths that barely moved her chest. Willow could feel the vibration of it through the floor, through the place where their arms touched. The woman's body was rigid, curled inward, as though fear had folded her in on herself. Behind the counter, the jeweler remained crouched, one hand braced against the cabinet door, his eyes fixed on the shattered entrance as if looking away might allow something to return.
