The first thing Draco felt was pain.
A sharp, stabbing ache in his chest that pulsed with every shallow breath. He tried to shift, but his body groaned in protest, his ribs aching as though a hammer had struck them from the inside out.
"Ah—you're awake."
The voice was soft, cool, almost melodic.
Draco's eyes fluttered open, vision blurred by the sterile glow of white light above him.
He blinked several times until the room came into focus. He was lying on a narrow bed, the air filled with the faint scent of herbs and antiseptic essence. Rows of cots lined the chamber, each separated by thin curtains—clearly some sort of Academy medical center.
But it wasn't the ceiling, the curtains, or even the faint hum of healing arrays etched into the floor that startled Draco.
It was the face hovering dangerously close to his own.
