ISLA’s POV
My eyelids fluttered open, but everything was a blur. The faint outline of a room came into view, bathed in soft light. My throat was dry and rough, like sandpaper, and my head throbbed with a dull ache.
I tried to move my hand, but a strange tugging sensation stopped me. Looking down, I saw the faint gleam of a needle embedded in my vein, connected to an IV drip. My heart clenched at the sight, a mixture of fear and confusion rushing through me. Where was I?
Voices reached my ears—low, gruff, and tense. I strained to make out the words, the blurry figures slowly sharpening into view.
“She’s burning up,” a man’s voice said, professional but firm. It was a doctor. “Her fever is severe, and her condition could worsen. She needs to be admitted to the hospital for proper care.”
