I can help you. If Rosalie were really here it was a sensible offer to make; Ezra would have done the same if he were trying to help someone who was supposedly ill. But he had not decided yet whether he believed she was really here, and if this was a hallucination it made sense that it contained yet another nudge towards physical contact. He hadn't taken her hand, so she'd brought it up again, hoping he would be tricked into reaching for her. He glanced briefly in the direction of the light orb she'd cast, but he didn't really care about the bench; if she was real, then it didn't matter where she was taking him. Instead, he looked straight into her eyes, trying to read something there that could help him.

The pair of them had been separated now nearly as long as they'd been together. He'd forgotten the exact hue of her eyes, but these looked right, familiar in the way that well-worn clothes could be. How unfair it would be if it turned out his shadows had a better memory for her than he did.

"I can walk," he said, feeling his way through the sentence as he spoke. "Once I'm sure. I..." Ezra hesitated, on the cusp of the point of no return. There were several ways that this could go horribly wrong for him, but he couldn't think of any other way to prove to himself that she was safe. "I'm trying to figure out if you're really here, or whether you're part of the curse. Whether you're trying to help me or kill me."

If she was one of the shadows, she wouldn't have any trouble understanding him.

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