Morning in the Healing House arrived quietly and much more peacefully than inside Fighting House. Not with noise or urgency, but with a soft, steady light that slipped through the tall windows and settled gently across the room, like even the sun understood this was not a place for harsh awakenings. I woke slowly. Not with a gasp. Not with fear clawing its way up my throat. Not with the lingering echo of my father’s voice. Just… woke.
For a moment, I didn’t move. I just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, my mind still wrapped in that hazy space between sleep and consciousness. And then it hit me. I had slept. Really slept. The kind of deep, uninterrupted rest I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had. No nightmares. No waking in a cold sweat. No reaching for a weapon. Just… sleep.
My
