KAIREN
Pain was the first thing to greet me. A deep, throbbing ache that owned my entire body. Then came the feel of the sheets, silk, cool and slick against my skin, expensive in a way that made my stomach turn.
The light was soft and fake, filtered through expensive gauze curtains that blurred the harsh Tokyo skyline into a meaningless smudge. The room smelled clean. Too clean. Antiseptic wipes and recycled air, with an undertone of money, the kind that pays to hide ugly things.
I tried to push myself up. A white-hot fork of pain stabbed across my ribs, so sharp and sudden I cried out, a short, pathetic sound, before collapsing back against the pillows. The breath left my lungs in a pained hiss.
Everything hurt. Not just one thing. Everything.
