I stirred awake to the gentle creak of leather and the soft rustle of fabric. My body ached in the quiet way that came after exhaustion, not the kind that came from battle or flight, but the kind that settled in your bones after too much emotion.
My hands itched with the lingering warmth of suppressed visions. I had kept the black gloves on the entire time, afraid of accidentally brushing the skin and unleashing another torrent of chaotic flashes. But the moment I realized I was safe lying on a bed, tucked beneath soft covers in a room dimly lit by the dying glow of a fireplace, I slipped them off.
The leather peeled away with a sigh, and I flexed my fingers, staring at the pale skin as though it belonged to someone else. My eyes swept the room instinctively, searching for something fami
