lost - the next step

Chapter twenty-two: Protective and panicked.

Noah could feel how fragile she was.

Not just in the way she walked—slow, uneven steps that barely carried her forward—but in the way the silence pressed between them. The way she didn't speak. The way her eyes barely moved.

He hadn't seen her like this before.

Not even close.

And Richelle had been through things. He knew that. He'd seen her worn down, emotionally flooded, completely overwhelmed. He'd sat with her through panic, through shutdowns, through the quiet disorientation that sometimes took over after performances or long rehearsals. But this?

This was something else.

It felt like she wasn't even there.

Noah's chest tightened as he glanced back at her again, still keeping his steps slow and steady, leading them toward Studio 1. She was following—but only just. Her feet were dragging more with each step. Her eyes were glassy. She looked like she was walking through a war zone only she could see.

And he didn't know what to do.

Didn't know what happened.

All he knew was that something had shattered.

Was it Jacquie? Had she said something else?

Noah had already been suspicious after that weird moment earlier—when Richelle came out of the hallway pale and quiet and off. He'd felt it, in his gut, the second he looked at her. Something was wrong. Something had been done to her.

And now this?

It had to be Jacquie.

Had to be.

His fists clenched at his sides before he forced them to relax. No. Focus. Richelle first.

They were almost to the door when he turned back again—and stopped.

She wasn't following anymore.

She was standing, stock-still, in the middle of the hallway like someone had paused her. Her arms were slightly lifted, like she didn't know what to do with them. Her expression was frozen—blank, unreadable, gone. And for one second Noah forgot how to move.

He turned and went straight to her.

Didn't hesitate. Didn't call out—there was no point. She wouldn't answer. She didn't even seem to see him.

It was like she'd glitched. Like her whole system had crashed mid-step and there was nothing functioning behind her eyes.

"Hey," he murmured, voice soft, low, careful, like if he was too loud she might collapse completely. "It's okay. I've got you."

He placed a gentle arm around her waist, steadying her body before it could sway any further. She didn't react. Not even a twitch.

His heart raced harder.

She was shaking, even through her sweatshirt.

And she was ice cold.

What happened to you...?

He didn't ask. Didn't waste time. Just led her the rest of the way, his arm securely around her, guiding her past the doors of Studio 1.

He sent up a silent, desperate thank you when he saw it was empty.

No dancers. No music. No lights on.

Just silence.

He steered her straight toward the bench.

"Come on," he said gently. "We'll just sit. You don't have to say anything."

She didn't.

Didn't even blink.