|Luna Moore|
Pain.
It drags me from the depths of unconsciousness, a relentless, burning ache in my side. The world feels heavy, my limbs sluggish, my mouth dry as sandpaper. The distant murmur of voices filters through the haze, but it's the warmth—her warmth—that grounds me.
Aurelia.
I force my eyelids to lift, the dim light stabbing through my skull. The blurry figure beside me sharpens into focus. Aurelia is sitting on the edge of the bed—no, not a bed—a hard metal table. Her fingers are intertwined with mine, her grip tight as if she's afraid to let go.
Her eyes, usually bright with mischief or challenge, are rimmed with exhaustion, her cheeks streaked with dried blood. My blood.
I try to speak, but my throat is raw, the sound that comes out barely more than a rasp.
Aurelia's h
