Chapter Seventeen
Her mouth tasted like dirty cotton. She tried to lick her lips, but her tongue cracked with the movement. She tried to take a breath, but pain shot through her lungs, and a cough caught in her sandpaper-like throat.
She opened her eyes. Spots danced in her vision, blocking out the scene around her. The lights in the room were bright—much, much too bright.
The medical wing. I must be in the medical wing.
But the skin on her hands still burned.
Nola tried to lift her hands to look at them; it felt like sand had filled her arms, making them too heavy to move properly. The skin on her hands was red against the white light.
“Nola,” a voice breathed.
Footsteps pounded across the floor, and Dr. Wynne and Kieran hovered over her, their faces blurred.
“Nola.” Kieran knelt,
