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Back on the old world, Jon was used to the way panic felt. It would start with his hands, it always started in his hands. He would lose all grip in his fingers, often drop whatever he was holding. He’d feel an influx of stomach acid, then he’d clench his jaw against the sudden nausea. His chest would tighten and breathing would become a chore. And his knees would give out -- he’d lost track of how many bruises he’d gotten from trying not to fall when he was overtaken by fear. Which was often.
But it’s been a few months here, a few beautiful, safe months, and he hasn’t felt those things in a long while. He’d forgotten how it felt to be stricken with the sudden, palpable certainty that you or the one you loved were moments from death.
But he feels it again now.
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