°Amy’s POV°
When I came to, the air smelled like antiseptic and lavender.
Weird combination. Right?
The ceiling above me was white, kind of blindingly so, and something cool pressed against the inside of my wrist. For a second, I thought I was still dreaming — the kind of fuzzy dream where you’re not sure where your body ends and the bed begins.
Then a voice broke through.
“Well, look who finally decided to wake up.”
I blinked a few times until the blur turned into a woman with caramel skin and short curls pinned up messily with a pencil. She was wearing scrubs, but not the boring kind — hers had little crescent moons printed all over them.
“Where am I?” My voice came out scratchy, like it had been hiding for hours.
“The clinic,” she said, leaning over to adjust the blanket over me
