Isla’s POV
I woke up wrong.
That’s the first thing I know—not where I am, not what time it is, not even what woke me. Just that something inside me is misaligned, like a bone that healed crooked without anyone noticing.
The ceiling above me isn’t the one I’m familiar with.
I stare at it for several seconds before that registers. Pale, unfamiliar lining. A faint crack that curves like a question mark near the corner. The air smells different too—masculine, sharper, like cologne I don’t use and a hint of antiseptic layered underneath.
My heart begins to race.
I don’t move right away. I don’t breathe too deeply either. I’ve learned, instinctively, that sudden movement gives panic more room. So I lie still and take inventory the way I always do when something feels off.
I’m fully cloth
