Chapter 7 – Exile to Heal
1062 Words
The first thing she noticed was the quiet.
Not the buzz-and-hum silence of the hospital.
This quiet was louder.
It was crashing waves against rock, gulls crying far off, the low crackle of fire licking stone.
A living quiet. One that breathed, and moved, and didn’t ask her to shrink inside herself to survive it.
Then came the smell.
Not antiseptic or bleach.
Woodsmoke. Herbs. Linen. Salt air.
Jane’s eyes fluttered open.
The ceiling above her wasn’t tiled. It was whitewashed wood, sloped gently with exposed beams. She blinked again, slower this time, her breath catching on instinct as her eyes searched the grain.
For a moment, she searched for the cracks she used to count, like rosary beads.
There were none.
Just smooth wood, warm light, and shifting shadows.
She cupped her hands over her eyes, feeling disoriented.
She could hear the sea—loud, untamed. The sound of waves crashing on rock filled the space with movement. It was not quiet. But it was… different. Wild. Alive.
Where…?
She let her hands slip back to her chest and opened her eyes again.
She tried to sit up, but her arms were too weak. Her limbs ached with the heavy fog of withdrawal. Her head pounded softly.
Panic flickered in her chest.
Another hospital? Another dream?
“You’re safe.”
The voice was calm, low, female.
Jane turned her head.
A woman stood near the window. She wore black cargo pants, boots, and a soft-knit sweater. Her dark braid hung over one shoulder. She was tall and strong, posture casual but alert—like someone who could fight if needed, but didn’t need to prove it.
“Where…?” Jane tried, but her voice cracked.
The woman stepped forward and held out a mug.
“Drink this. Slowly.”
The ceramic was warm in her hands. She sniffed it—sweet, earthy, not medicine. She sipped.
It was good... real good.
“You passed out,” the woman said. “We gave your system time to rest.”
“Who are you?”
“Mira,” she said simply, with a light smile in the corner of her mouth. “I’m here to protect you.”
That made no sense. Jane looked down, cupping her head now, trying to scramble for even a fragment of recollection.
“I was in a hospital.”
“Yes.”
“Is this another one?”
Mira shook her head. “No. This is a safe house.”
Jane looked around.
The room was built of pale stone, rough and old, cold by nature—but it didn’t feel cold. A small fireplace cracked with a steady flame across from the bed. A vintage soft pink armchair sat nearby, its fabric slightly worn at the arms. A faded Persian rug was in the center of the wooden floor, and bundles of dried herbs hung from a low beam—lavender, rosemary, maybe sage.
It was too beautiful to be an accident. Too warm to be a hospital despite the cold walls.
Jane frowned faintly. “Where’s the man who brought me here?” she whispered, suddenly able to grasp something. “The one with eyes like mine.”
Mira’s expression gentled. “He’s nearby. He hasn’t left your side since the moment he found you.”
Just then, a soft knock sounded at the door. Mira stood and crossed the room, pausing to glance back at Jane. “I’ll give you both a moment.”
As she opened the door, Jane heard voices—low, murmured. One of them—deep, calm—felt… familiar.
Mira said something Jane couldn’t hear, and a man responded—measured, gravel-edged.
Kai.
She didn’t know how she knew the name, but she did.
As Mira stepped through, the door opened wider for just a moment.
Long enough for Jane to see him.
He stood just outside, turned slightly, caught mid-sentence. His messy waves of dark hair were pushed back, though a few strands hung over his brow. His jaw was sharp. His eyes—so dark they almost shimmered—locked with hers across the room.
Recognition hit them both like a wave.
And then the door closed behind Mira—and the moment was gone, like it lasted forever and none altogether.
Jane lay frozen.
Her heart was racing. Not from fear. From something else.
Another voice pulled her back.
“Ah you're awake,” said a woman—soft, maternal.
Jane turned her head.
A tall woman with long silver-streaked hair stepped into the room, wrapped in a pale knit cardigan. She carried a folded towel and a quiet, steady kindness.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she said. “I’m Vanessa, but you can call me Nessa. I’m a healer.”
Jane flinched. “I’m not sick.”
“No,” Nessa said gently. “But you’ve been hurt. Healing takes more than pills.”
She sat beside her, placing the warm towel over her forehead. Jane froze.
Mira stepped back into the room, observing.
“Easy,” Nessa said. “No one touches you unless you say so. You can say no here.”
No one had ever said that to her before. This definitely wasn't a hospital or psych ward.
Jane blinked fast, swallowing hard. Her hands twitched.
“Why am I here?”
“To rest,” Nessa answered softly. “Nothing more. Not yet.”
“I feel… wrong.”
“That’s the medication leaving your body,” Nessa said. “You’ve been sedated for a long time. We’re going to help you detox—slowly.”
“Am I crazy?”
The room went still.
Nessa and Mira shared an amused glance, now Nessa took Janes hand gently.
“No,” she said softly. “You are awakening.”
Jane didn’t know how to respond. Her throat ached.
Nessa gently adjusted her blanket. “You don’t have to understand everything today. Just breathe.”
Jane nodded, barely.
“Sleep, if you want. Eat when you’re ready. There’s no clock here. Just time.”
Jane turned toward the window. She couldn’t see the sea, but she could hear it—louder now, insistent. Alive.
“My name isn’t Jane,” she whispered.
Nessa smiled.
“I know.”
And for the first time in a long time… Jane let the dark come gently.
- Writer
