The ceiling was the first thing I saw.
Stone. Familiar. The particular shade of grey that meant I was still in the packhouse, still inside these walls, still here. I had been hoping, in that foggy half second between unconscious and awake, that I would open my eyes somewhere else. Anywhere else.
No such luck.
I became aware of things slowly and in the wrong order. The roughness of the blanket under my hands. The smell of something herbal burning low somewhere in the room. The ache sitting behind my eyes like something that had been there a long time and had no plans to leave. The threads in my chest, still there, still humming with a warmth that had absolutely no right to exist after last night.
Then I became aware of the figure in the corner.
