He stood up and began walking towards the bedside table. His steps were unsteady, lurching from side to side. His hands were reaching out blindly, grasping at the air, searching for something solid to hold onto. The room spun around him, the walls tilting and swaying. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, loud and fast, drowning out everything else.
"Holland, stop," Soren said, trying to hold him back. His hand closed around Holland's arm, firm but gentle, trying to hold him still. This was the second time he had seen Holland in a panic attack, and he still didn't know what to do. He felt helpless and useless. What was he to do?
"No, I need to call him," Holland said. "If I don't, he's going to send me back to Andrew."
"No, fuck, he's not!" Soren shouted. His voice was loud, cutting through the room like a blade. The words echoed off the walls, shocking everyone into silence. "He's not going to fucking send you out of the pack."
