Nayana
A faint ache throbs at the back of my skull before I even open my eyes. My body feels… heavy. Like I’m pinned under something invisible, every breath scraping against my ribs. My lips are dry, my throat burns. I shift slightly and immediately regret it. A sharp pain shoots through my shoulder and stomach, forcing a small whimper out of me.
Where am I?
The air smells of antiseptic and clean linen. The sheets beneath me are softer than anything in my room at home, and the hum of the AC whispers somewhere above me. Slowly, I blink my eyes open. I wince at the light that stings at first, but when my vision clears, I see a slightly familiar face across the room. Theo Falcone.
He’s sitting on a single chair, one leg crossed over the other, phone in hand, his expression unusually calm.
