The heavy, velvet darkness that had pulled Jillyanna under slowly began to fray at the edges, replaced by the soft, rhythmic ticking of a wall clock and the distinct, soothing scent of white tea and lavender. She groaned, a faint sound catching in her throat as she blinked against the warm, amber light filtering through her eyelashes. The world was no longer spinning, but her head felt heavy, as if stuffed with cotton. As her vision cleared, the familiar high ceiling and mahogany bookshelves of Cielo's private office came into focus. She was lying on the plush, emerald-green velvet sofa, a soft cashmere blanket draped over her legs.
Before she could even attempt to sit up, the heavy oak door of the office swung open with a sharp click. Cielo marched in, her face a pale canvas of lingering terror, carrying a steaming ceramic mug. Seeing Jillyanna's open eyes, Cielo let out a breath so loud it sounded like a deflating balloon, her shoulders dropping in pure, unadulterated relief.
