The first thing Matthew felt was weight.
Heavy and dense. It was like waking up underwater. His chest rose with effort, his breath ragged. Then there came the pain. Not sharp, but lingering, dull. Like the pressure of something massive had sat on him for too long.
His eyes snapped open.
He was in a room—his room, it seemed. Dimly lit, curtains drawn halfway, a faint breeze wafting through the cracked window. There was a strange warmth in the air, like someone had recently left, yet it didn't feel empty.
A voice broke the silence.
"Welcome back, young master."
Matthew turned his head sharply.
Cristoff stood near the doorway, arms clasped behind his back, expression as unreadable as ever but Matthew noticed the faint crease in his brow.
"Cristoff…?" His throat was dry. His voice rasped. "How am I here?"
Cristoff stepped forward with a bottle of water. He opened its cap and handed it to Matthew.
