Holland's POV
My throat hurts.
No—burns.
It hurts so badly it feels raw, like something scraped it from the inside. Every swallow sends pain shooting down my neck, and nausea curls violently in my stomach. I feel like throwing up. The sensation sits heavy, urgent, impossible to ignore.
I open my eyes.
The ceiling above me is white. Too white. Blurry around the edges, like my vision can't decide whether to focus or give up completely. The room tilts, spins, then steadies in slow, nauseating waves.
Something is stuck in my throat.
Panic flickers through me. I push myself upright too fast and the world lurches. I barely have time to turn before I vomit over the side of the bed.
"Fuck!"
"Fuck!"
Two voices shout at the same time.
I recognize them immediately—Jamie and Soren.
"Get a container," Soren says sharply. "I'll get the doctor."
"What container?" Jamie asks, panicked.
"I don't know, get a bowl or something!"
