The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the sterile scent of antiseptic. It clung to the air, stung my nose, and instantly reminded me that I wasn’t home, wasn’t safe. My eyelids fluttered open to a wash of white: white ceiling, white sheets, the dim blue glow of hospital monitors blinking beside me. My body felt heavy, my chest too tight, and my throat burned from dehydration.
For one blissful second, I forgot everything.
Then it all came rushing back.
Zaria. The ropes biting into my wrists. The panic of being locked away like an animal. The darkness pressing in. And the sharp, sickening realization that my best friend — the one I’d once trusted with everything — had betrayed me in ways I couldn’t even piece together yet.
I blinked hard, swallowing the lump clawing its way up my
