The soft hum of machines and the faint scent of antiseptic reached her nose before her eyes even fluttered open. The lights were dim, but daylight filtered gently through a gap in the curtains. A quiet room. Too quiet.
Lyra’s lashes parted slowly.
She blinked once, twice—then pushed herself up with a wince. Her body felt heavy, like her bones were weighed down with sand. Her throat was dry, her skin clammy with sweat. She glanced around, momentarily disoriented, until the cold sting of reality returned.
She passed out from the fever.
She remembered curling up on the couch, trying to hide how awful she felt. The pounding in her head, the burn of her skin—everything had been spinning. And then…
Her gaze shifted, and her breath caught in her throat.
Right beside the bed, sitting in the
