“Do not leave your room.”
Nyra didn’t hear the words. They just… existed. Not spoken, not written—they were simply there, heavy and permanent, like the room itself had grown around them.
She stared up for a long time before she realized she was even looking at anything.
That ceiling—way too white. Not the gentle white of a cozy room, but sharp, sterile, almost glowing. It hummed, though there wasn’t a light she could see. The noise crept along her nerves and settled in her skin.
When did I wake up? She didn’t remember. Didn’t recall closing her eyes, either. She only knew she was conscious now. She shouldn’t be.
Suddenly, breath filled her, sharp and ragged, as clarity crashed in. Her body responded slowly—like it didn’t want to move yet. Fingers first, too thin, too pale, not hers. T
