Laney.
The voice is distant, muffled, like it's coming through water.
Laney!
My name again. Closer this time. Urgent.
I try to open my eyes, but my eyelids are lead weights. My head is splitting open, a white-hot spike of pain driving through my skull from temple to temple. Everything is fuzzy—shapes without edges, sounds without meaning.
Something bitter coats my tongue. Herbs. Medicine.
Sedated.
I force my eyes open.
The world swims into focus slowly, agonizingly. Above me, the moon hangs full and brilliant in a black velvet sky, so bright it hurts to look at. Stars scatter across the darkness like shattered glass.
How long have I been here?
I shift—mistake—and pain explodes through my ribs, my shoulder, my spine. I gasp, the sound wet and ragged. My hand moves instinctively to
