The world returned to Willow in fragments—light first, harsh and buzzing, slicing across her eyelids. Then sound: beeping, low voices, the sterile hum of ventilation. Finally sensation—the cold stiffness beneath her back, the faint pressure of wires taped to her skin, the throbbing ache pulsing through her abdomen like a memory that refused to fade.
Her lashes fluttered, heavy and reluctant. She felt as though consciousness were dripping back into her one slow, uneven drop at a time. A shape moved above her—soft, blurry, vaguely human—then sharpened into the outline of a nurse leaning over her.
"Hey there," the woman said gently. "You're awake."
Awake. The word didn't settle. Willow blinked again, fighting the fog. Her throat felt rough, as if she had been swallowing sand. She lifted a hand—slow, shaking—and pressed it to her forehead.
"What… what happened?" she whispered.
