The room smells like herbs, ink, and medicine.

Which is probably better than the alternative.

Your body still feels wrong.

Heavy.

Burning in places it shouldn’t.

Somewhere nearby, glass clinks softly against wood.

And she’s watching you again.

Not nervously.

Not emotionally.

Carefully.

Like every breath you take is another clue.

And somehow—

That’s both comforting and deeply concerning.