The sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant was the first thing Micah became aware of. It burned faintly in his nose, making his stomach lurch.
The second thing was the pain, so deep, throbbing, and relentless as if his whole body had been flattened by an eighteen-wheeler truck.
He stirred, trying to open his glued shut eyes with significant effort. His vision blurred, then steadied on a glaringly white ceiling.
Was this...a hospital?
He turned his head to the side, grimacing at the spike of pain that followed the motion. No. This wasn't a hospital. The room was too decorative for a hospital room, even a VIP section. It was more like a guest room, too elegant, with clean lines, rich fabrics, and soft lighting. Only one thing betrayed the room: an infusion stand beside him, a thin line taped neatly to his arm. A lamp rested on the nightstand, its glow warm.
His heart beat faster. Where the hell was he?!
