Josephine
I didn’t remember losing consciousness. One moment I was staring at the back doors of a speeding van, trying to decide whether I was more nauseous or terrified, and the next I was waking up like someone had slapped a reboot button on my brain. No gentle fade‑in, no dreamy transition — just a violent, jarring snap back into harsh reality.
And reality was vibrating ominously.
A deep, bone‑rattling hum travelled through the metal floor and straight into my skull, like the van had decided to audition as a migraine generator. It wasn’t just noise; it was a physical presence, a low mechanical growl that made every bolt and panel tremble. The smell hit me next — petrol, damp canvas, and something faintly sweet, like cough syrup spilled by someone who didn’t believe in cleaning. T
