I don't remember when I drifted off.
One minute, I was curled on the soft and plushy bed, trying to convince myself the ache in my stomach wasn't eating me alive, and the next, my eyes were snapping open like I'd been pulled out of deep water.
The first thing I saw was Freya, perched on the chair beside my bed.
She was typing furiously, thumbs moving faster than I'd ever seen them. Probably ranting in a group chat.
"Freya?" My voice was croaky, barely above a whisper.
She glanced up instantly. "You're awake."
I groaned, lifting a hand to wipe my sweaty forehead. Except, wait. I wasn't sweaty anymore. My skin felt cool. The pounding in my skull was gone, and my stomach no longer felt like it was being tied into knots.
"Hey," I croaked again, clearing my throat.
"Hey yourself," Freya said, sliding her phone into her pocket. "You look less like death. I was starting to plan your funeral playlist."
I tried to smile but my throat was still scratchy. "What time is it?"
"Six."
