Consciousness returned to Valen in fragments, drifting toward her like scattered leaves carried on the surface of a quiet stream. At first, there was nothing but sensation the dull heaviness of her limbs, the faint chill clinging to her skin, and the persistent ache blooming deep within her side like a slow-burning ember.
She tried to move and instantly regretted it, because the motion stirred a sharp thread of pain that lanced through her ribs and forced a weak gasp from her throat. The feeling felt fragile, as though it belonged to someone else entirely.
Her lashes fluttered.
Light spilled gently across the chamber, not the harsh brightness of afternoon but the muted
silver of early dawn. The shattered window had been covered, and fresh curtains stirred faintly in the cool morning air.
She was alive.
The realization settled slowly, accompanied by a memory she could not yet fully grasp, the whistle of an arrow, the crushing impact, Georgia's tear-streaked face.
