I gasp, sucking in a breath greedily like I've been drowning, like I've been trapped beneath water for too long and finally broken the surface.
Light. Blinding, violent light. It sears into my skull, and stabs through my eyes like knives. I try to squeeze them shut, but even behind my lids, the brightness pulses.
Then sound slams into me. A rush of beeping, sharp and insistent. A low, steady hum. Voices. At first they're muffled, garbled, like I'm hearing them through glass. Then they sharpen, one word at a time.
"She's conscious."
"Vitals stabilizing."
"Do not let her panic."
Then…
"Lena?"
That voice cuts through everything else. Trembling. Familiar. A woman's voice. Older. Warm in a way that makes my chest ache.
I blink hard against the light. The world swims into view in pieces… edges of machines, pale walls, blurry silhouettes leaning over me. A face hovers close. My breath stutters.
Mom?
No. Not possible.
Her skin is lined, her dark hair streaked with gray. Her eyes are the same, though… soft, brown, brimming with tears. Recognition surges through me, but it crashes against a wall of disbelief. My mom wasn't old. She was vibrant, young, always laughing. This woman looks… tired. Worn down. A version of my mother I don't know.
Another figure leans into my vision. A man. He grabs my hand, squeezing hard, anchoring me like he's afraid I might float away.
"Oh my God," he breathes, his voice breaking.
Dad.
The last memory I have is stumbling into their bedroom in the middle of the night, my head splitting with the worst migraine of my life. I remember clutching my temples, sobbing from the pain. Then…
Nothing.
"You scared the hell out of us, kid," Dad says, forcing a shaky laugh, but his voice trembles too much for it to land.
My throat burns when I try to swallow. My lips are cracked, my tongue heavy, like I've been chewing sand. The words scrape out like rusted metal. "Where… am I?" I pause, breath hitching. "How long have I been here?"
The silence that follows crushes me. They look at each other, and the weight of it makes my stomach sink.
"You've been asleep for a long time, sweetheart," Mom says softly.
Too softly.
A warning.
A prelude to devastation.
My pulse spikes. I can hear it in the beeping machines, racing, frantic. My eyes dart between their faces, searching for an answer, for a lifeline.
"How long?" My voice cracks.
Dad's hand tightens around mine. He looks at me like he's breaking apart, like the words will ruin me. "Thirteen years, honey."
The air shatters inside my lungs.
No. No, that's not possible.
I try to shake my head, but my neck is stiff, foreign, like it doesn't belong to me. My muscles twitch and jerk in unnatural spasms. I strain, but my body won't obey. It feels wrong, like I'm wearing a suit that doesn't fit.
Thirteen years? I was fifteen. I had finals coming up. A boyfriend. A beach trip planned with my friends for spring break. Now… what am I supposed to be?
Twenty-eight?
Tears burn down my cheeks. I choke on them. "No… no, that cannot be real. You're lying."
Mom's face crumples. She leans down, brushing my hair back the way she used to when I was little. Her fingers are warm, trembling against my forehead. "I know this is a lot, sweetheart. But you're safe now. We're here. Everything will be fine."
Fine.
The word echoes through me like ice water.
Nothing is fine.
My chest rises and falls too fast. I can't control it. My hands tremble against the blanket, weak, useless. My heart monitor screeches in time with my panic.
"Heart rate spiking… 173 and climbing."
"She just woke up; stabilize her. Keep her calm."
More footsteps, more voices.
A nurse.
Two doctors.
They move around me in a blur, swift but eerily calm, like this chaos is routine.
One steps forward, a very tall man with a pressed white coat and dark eyes that watches me too closely. "Lena," he says evenly, as if speaking to a frightened animal. "My name is Dr. Renley. You're at Havencrest Medical Center. You've been asleep for some time, but you're safe now. Your parents are here with you as you know, you're safe now."
I can barely nod, my head swimming. His words slide around me, half-heard.
"You're doing very well," he continues. "We're just going to give you something to help your body relax. Your heart is under a lot of stress. You've been through more than most people could imagine. Let us help you, okay?"
I want to scream at him to explain. To tell me exactly what happened. But my body betrays me. I'm too weak, too heavy, too tired. I don't fight when the nurse slides a syringe into my IV.
The medication hits fast.
My chest loosens, my muscles unclench. Warmth pours through me, thick and honey-slow.
My thoughts drift, soft and hazy.
The fear doesn't vanish completely, but it dulls, tucked behind a curtain I can't push through.
"Good," Dr. Renley murmurs, glancing at the monitors. "That's much better. Rest now, Lena."
His voice fades into the blur as the darkness swallows me again.
But deep inside, beneath the haze, something stirs.
Something that isn't me.
---
When I wake again the room is dim, only the monitors glowing faintly. Mom is curled in a chair beside me, asleep, her chin tucked against her chest. Dad is stretched out on a couch, snoring softly.
I stare at the ceiling. My body aches… not just sore, but wrong. My skin feels too tight, my joints stiff and alien.
Mom's words replay on a loop. We'll take you home soon. Everything will be fine.
But how?
Thirteen years have vanished. My entire youth, stolen. The world has kept spinning without me.
And worse… something inside me doesn't feel like it belongs. Like a shadow pressed against my thoughts.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Go away, I plead silently.
It doesn't.
---
At 5am on the dot Doctors swarm me like vultures. Lights in my eyes. Reflex hammers tapping my knees. Machines scanning me from every angle. Endless questions. Some I can't answer. Some I don't want to.
One doctor stands out. His eyes are sharp, too sharp. His smile doesn't reach them.
"You're recovering remarkably well," he says, his tone a little too cheerful. "Frankly, better than we could've dreamed."
I frown. "What does that mean?"
Mom stiffens beside me. Dad glances away.
The doctor's smile never falters. "After thirteen years in a coma, we expect major complications… muscle atrophy, speech impairment, neurological delays. But you? Your progress is… exceptional."
My skin prickles. I look at my hands. Thin. Weak. But moving. Stronger than they should be.
"We'd like to keep her a few more days for observation," the doctor said, turning to my parents.
Mom nodded too quickly. "Whatever she needs."
"Why do I need to be monitored?" I press.
"Just normal procedure," he says smoothly.
He's lying.
I don't know how I know, but I do. My mind flickers like a switch has been thrown.
Data. Observations. Calculations.
Heart rate elevated. Pupil dilation: slight. Blink rate: irregular.
Deception probability: 78%.
I suck in a sharp breath.
What the hell was that?
The doctor notices my reaction. His gaze sharpens. "Are you okay?"
I nod quickly. Maybe too quickly. "Just… tired."
He arches an eyebrow and scribbles something on his tablet, then pulls my parents outside, their voices dropping low.
I'm left alone, heart racing, dread curling tight in my stomach.
---
That night, I dream.
Not dreams… static. Numbers. Streams of data. Symbols I didn't recognize. Faces I didn't know. A girl with braces and red curls. A man in a cowboy hat. A woman in a lab coat. A room filled with monitors. The feeling of floating… of being watched.
I bolted upright in bed, gasping.
The room is quiet. Only the soft beep of the monitors, the hum of electronics. I press a hand to my chest.
And then… "Relax."
My breath catches.
A voice. Male. Calm. Smooth.
I look around the room, wild-eyed. But I'm alone.
The voice didn't come from outside.
It came from inside my head.
"Who said that?" I whisper.
Silence.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
This is just a side effect. Hallucinations. My brain's adjusting. That's all.
But I don't believe that.
Not really.