Maya stirred to the sound of birdsong—soft, distant, too peaceful to be real.
Her head pounded. Her mouth was dry. Her limbs felt like they were wrapped in lead.
She tried to sit up, but her body resisted. Every movement was sluggish, like she was swimming through molasses. Her vision blurred, then slowly adjusted to the dim light filtering through unfamiliar curtains.
Wooden walls. A high ceiling with exposed beams. A fireplace.
She wasn’t in her bed. Not even close.
The realization hit her like a jolt of electricity. Her breath caught in her throat.
She was on a couch. A blanket draped over her. Her shoes gone. Her coat folded neatly on a nearby chair.
Panic clawed at her chest.
Where am I?
Then —
Footsteps.
Maya froze.
The soft creak of floorboards grew louder until a figure
