Blood?
Mine or someone else’s?
No answer.
Fingers found the back of my neck. Lifting my arm sent fire through shoulder. Lines there. Scars. Surgical precision. Deliberate cuts.
Someone had opened my skull.
Fear hit hard, cold.
These scars meant something. Something wrong.
What?
Traced them, trying to remember. Trying to pull up anything. The movement made my head throb worse, vision swimming.
Nothing.
Just scars and terror I couldn’t explain.
Blankets surrounded me. Heavy. Warm. Too warm with fever climbing.
When had someone covered me?
Touched the fabric. Soft cotton. Not medical. Personal.
Someone’s blankets.
Given to me.
That feeling returned, the ache in my chest. Vision blurred.
What was this?
Reached for memory. Any memory.
Fragments came:
Water. Cold. Drowning.
Falling. Long drop.
Running. Always running.
Red lights strobing.
A voice. Female. Soft. Saying,
“You’re safe.”
Was I?
Didn’t know what that word meant.
Hands kept moving without permission. Positions I didn’t choose. Curved. Ready. Muscle memory operating without context.
Eyes tracked the room again. Counting. Measuring threat levels.
