TRINITY
When I opened my eyes, it was to the soft light filtering through the curtains and the sharp but dull ache pounding at my temple. Everything felt hazy, my surroundings spinning for a moment before settling into clarity. My head felt heavy, like someone had stuffed it with cotton. As I tried to push myself upright, a shadow loomed above me, startling me into stillness.
Nasir.
He stood there, his tall frame partially blocking the light, his expression unreadable. In his hand was a small wad of cotton wool, damp and speckled with something red. My blood.
“Stay still,” he murmured, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. There was no edge, no sharp command—just quiet insistence.
I flinched slightly as he crouched beside me, his face now level with mine. He reached out with care
