The silence hits first.
Not the normal kind. Not a peaceful hush or the tired quiet that comes after crying too hard. This one feels wrong. Heavy. Pressed into the air like someone smothered every sound on purpose. Even our breathing sounds too loud, like each inhale is something the chamber wants to swallow.
My head is still against Nathan’s chest when it settles. His heartbeat thuds under my ear, slow but strong, a steady pulse that feels real in a place where everything else shifts like illusions. My hair is plastered to my forehead with cold sweat and I feel shaky in a way that has nothing to do with temperature.
I lift my head a fraction, grimacing at how weak my neck feels, and whisper, “Okay. Who pressed the drain button.”
My voice is scratchy. Too soft. Too small in the suffoca
