Baze has seen people struck with terror before. He's seen the glazed look in people's eyes that shows, unequivocally, that they're elsewhere, that they're reliving awful things.
He sees that in his friend now.
"It's not real, Oswin," Baze says, trying to keep his voice level, measured, to pierce the fog surrounding her brain. He opens his arms, letting her come to him, if she so chooses. "It's not real, and I'm here with you. What can I do to help you right now?"
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Baze has seen people struck with terror before. He's seen the glazed look in people's eyes that shows, unequivocally, that they're elsewhere, that they're reliving awful things.
He sees that in his friend now.
"It's not real, Oswin," Baze says, trying to keep his voice level, measured, to pierce the fog surrounding her brain. He opens his arms, letting her come to him, if she so chooses. "It's not real, and I'm here with you. What can I do to help you right now?"