Amber
The world came back in fragments.
Blinding white lights above me. The steady beeping of a monitor. The faint scent of antiseptic that burned my nose. My limbs felt heavy, like they weren’t mine, and there was a strange, dull ache in the lower half of my body.
I blinked, trying to piece together where I was. The ceiling tiles blurred in and out of focus, the fluorescent light stinging my eyes. My throat was dry, raw, like I’d been screaming for hours.
A soft shuffle of footsteps broke the silence. A figure stepped into view, but I couldn’t make them out clearly. My heart lurched, panic surging through me as I instinctively tried to sit up.
“Easy!” a woman’s voice said quickly, firm but kind. “Don’t move too fast. You’re safe here.”
Safe. The word felt foreign, hollow.
I froze,
