Bright.
That was the first thing Ray saw as his eyes cracked open. Blinding, sterile light bled into his vision, forcing him to squint.
He blinked—once, twice—each movement dragging like molasses through fog. The world stitched back together—blurry, broken, like a dream clawing into reality.
His body screamed in silence. Every nerve felt like it had been shattered and reassembled with fire and wire.
"…Ugh."
The groan slipped out—dry, cracked, raw. His lips were chapped. His throat, parched like a desert scorched beneath twin suns.
He tried to sit up, but pain lanced through his ribs and spine like a lightning spear driven straight through his lungs.
"That's not wise," came a voice—soft, calm, yet undeniably firm.
A woman stood beside the bed. Middle-aged, draped in healer's robes of white and green. Her eyes held the practiced calm of someone who'd seen far too many brush shoulders with death.
