FAYE
I woke to the unfamiliar weight of stillness.
Not the peaceful kind—the kind that pressed against my chest and made me aware, all at once, that I was not where I was supposed to be. The air smelled wrong… not home. Something herbal, earthy, faintly bitter. My eyes fluttered open, then squeezed shut again when the dull throb behind them protested.
The ceiling above me was wooden.
Everywhere was quiet.
I tried to shift, and pain answered immediately—low, deep, spreading through my abdomen like a slow bruise blooming from the inside. My breath hitched before I could stop it.
“You’re awake.”
The voice came from my left. Male, calm. Almost… gentle.
“You shouldn’t try to move yet,” he continued, closer now. “Your body’s still recovering from the impact.”
Impact.
The word cracked s
