Krystal’s Point Of View
The first thing I felt was the warmth. Not pain. Not Colt’s voice. Not even the hum of a hospital monitor. Just warmth radiating from heavy blankets draped over me, and something that smelled faintly like cedarwood and chamomile.
Then the second thing that hit me was confusion. My eyes fluttered open slowly, and for a long, breathless moment, I didn’t know where I was.
Above me (the ceiling) was a strange configuration of exposed wooden cross-beams that seemed like skeletal arms, ancient and dust-tipped. There was nothing of it which was the chilly white glow of a hospital, or the murky grace of a Colt penthouse. Nor sparkled any chandelier above me. No cologne or lavender linen fragrance wafted by the air. Only the lingering smell of smoke, wood fire, and somet
