When I opened my eyes, the world was too bright.
Warmth spread across my face, unfamiliar and soft. The bitter chill of stone and rot was gone, replaced by the brush of fine sheets and the dull ache of too much light behind my closed lids. My mouth was dry. My body trembled under the weight of the air. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming again—caught in another hallucination where my mother whispered lullabies or where Maya appeared holding a tray of food, smiling like everything was normal.
But the sheets were real.
So was the faint floral scent of linen.
And the muted gold canopy above my head.
My throat burned as I swallowed, and my voice came out hoarse, like it had been dragged across broken glass. “Maya…?”
No answer.
I sat up too fast.
The room swayed. Pain cracked through
