FIA
Get up.
My mother's voice cut through the fog in my head, steady and sharp, as if she stood over me instead of somewhere far beyond reach.
Get up, Fia.
I tried. I really did. But my body refused to listen.
Pain sat everywhere at once, not in one place I could brace against, but spread through me like it owned every inch. My skin felt wrong, stretched too tight over bones that ached deep and heavy. When I tried to move my fingers, the effort dragged through something jagged, as my nerves had turned into shards of glass. Even breathing felt like a mistake.
I forced my eyes open.
The world came back slowly, as if it didn't want me to see it yet. Shapes blurred together before they settled into something I could recognize. Ceiling first. Then the walls. Then the floor pressed cold against me, grounding me in a way that hurt more than it helped.
And him.
Valentine stood over me, the syringe already in his hand again.
"Do not move."
