The room was quiet... Too quiet.
Philipa stirred slowly, her brows knitting as pain rippled through her body. Every muscle protested as awareness crept back in. Her arms throbbed, her legs felt heavy, and her head pulsed faintly, as if someone had been tapping it from the inside.
She hissed softly and opened her eyes.
The familiar ceiling of the hostel room greeted her. Sunlight filtered through the narrow window, pale and warm, brushing lightly over her face. For a moment, she simply lay there, breathing, grounding herself.
“I’m alive…” she murmured.
As she tried to sit up, a sharp ache shot through her side and she groaned, falling back onto the mattress. Only then did she realize—her wounds felt… different.
Lighter. Less raw.
She frowned and slowly lifted her arm.
Clean bandages
