Mikayla POV
I can hear the birds singing sweet songs after last night’s storm. Their cheerful rhythm feels wrong against the heaviness still coiled inside me. Each note stabs through the fog in my skull, making my head throb like a drumbeat behind my eyes.
The sunlight filters through the window—too bright, too alive—spilling over my battered body. Every inch of me aches. My ribs scréam when I breathe too deeply, my shoulders sting with every tiny shift, and my skin still smells faintly of antiseptic and smoke.
The sheets stick to my skin where dried sweat clings, and for a second, I almost forget where I am. Then I catch the familiar pattern of my bedroom ceiling, and relief rushes in, shaky and uneven. I’m home. Safe. Or at least… trying to feel safe.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” Trip
