C86 The Dead Don’t Speak

Beeping machines yanked me from the abyss. My eyelids felt heavy, but I pried them open. White ceiling. The sharp scent of antiseptic. Pain coiled around my limbs—hospital.

I turned my neck, disoriented. A nurse sat by the window, eyes glued to her phone, brows furrowed in focus. She hadn’t noticed me awake.

I flexed my fingers. They moved. No more stiffness. Swallowing hurt—my throat was dry