ISABELLA'S POV
Darkness pulled back—slowly, like thick soft curtains being drawn open one at a time.
It started with a breath.
Not the painful gasp I expected, but a soft, hesitant pull of air into my lungs—like my body was testing the weight of being alive again.
My eyelids were heavy. The air around me felt wrong. Too clean. Too cold.
Then came sensation.
There was a steady beep nearby, the kind that only existed in hospitals. The cool slide of oxygen against my nostrils. A dull ache pressing against the side of my skull. Warmth. Something warm wrapped around my hand.
My tongue felt like sandpaper, glued to the roof of my mouth. Water. I needed water more than I needed to understand where I was or what had happened. The need was primal, eclipsing everything else.
I blinked—once, twice.
The ceiling above me came into focus, pale and unfamiliar. The smell of antiseptic clung to the air like a warning.
Where…?
Hospital?
A face. Sharp lines. Dark hair. Auburn eyes.