She wasn't scared. Not really. She'd seen scarier things. She'd been a scarier thing. Her own mortality was something she'd faced and conquered and accepted many many times before this time. And yet? Tonight? She was trembling. She couldn't fill her lungs. She felt distant -- and not in that empowering, purposeful way.

The world was both too sharp and too wrapped in cotton. Buffy stooped and grabbed onto the guard's ankles. Or tried to. Those boots had thick cuffs. So she gripped higher instead.

With an oof, she lifted up. She put her back into it.