I wince.
My throat aches.
Not just sore—raw. Tight. Like someone wrapped barbed wire around it and pulled.
A memory flickers somewhere in the back of my mind.
Hands.
Pressure.
The feeling of air disappearing.
My chest tightens suddenly.
My eyes snap open.
The room around me is unfamiliar.
The ceiling is wooden. Dark beams running across it. A fan spinning slowly overhead. The faint smell of antiseptic and leather hangs in the air.
Where am I?
My breathing picks up automatically, which is a mistake because pain shoots through my ribs instantly.
“Ah—”
The sound catches in my throat and turns into a rough rasp.
Something shifts beside me.
A chair scrapes suddenly.
Then a voice.
Low.
Rough.
Terrified.
“Emma?”
My heart jumps.
I know that voice.
My head turns slowly toward the sound.
And there he is.
Hawk.
He’s sitting beside the bed, leaning forward so fast his chair nearly tips over behind him.
His eyes look wild.
Like he hasn’t slept in days.
