Aria's POV
I can't breathe.
My lungs burn like they're full of fire. I claw at my throat, gasping, choking on air that won't come. The poison I can still taste it. Bitter almonds and something metallic, like pennies dissolving on my tongue.
Please, I tried to beg that night. But Julian's hand covered my mouth. His eyes were cold, empty. Like I was already a ghost.
And Celeste my own sister stood behind him, smiling.
I died. I know I died.
So why am I sitting up in my old bed, surrounded by pink wallpaper and stuffed animals I haven't seen since high school?
My heart hammers against my ribs. I throw off the blanket and stumble to the mirror on my dresser. The girl staring back looks like me, but wrong. My skin is too pale, almost gray. My eyes are too bright, like someone turned up the light behind them.
I touch my face. Cold. I'm cold.
The calendar on my desk catches my eye. I grab it with shaking hands.
Four months. It's been four months since my engagement party. Four months since Julian and Celeste murdered me.
No, I whisper. No, no, no
The bedroom door slams open.
My father stands there in his pajamas, frozen like someone hit pause on him. His coffee mug drops from his hand and shatters on the floor. Brown liquid spreads across the hardwood.
Aria? His voice cracks. He looks like he's seeing a ghost.
Maybe he is.
Dad I start, but he's already running to me. His arms wrap around me so tight I can barely breathe. He's crying into my hair, saying my name over and over like a prayer.
You're awake, he sobs. Oh God, you're awake. It's a miracle. A miracle.
Awake? Is that what he thinks? That I was sleeping?
Dad, I need to tell you something I try to explain, but he's already pulling out his phone, calling someone. The doctor, probably. Or the police. Or everyone he knows.
Within an hour, my bedroom is full of people. Doctors with stethoscopes. Nurses checking my pulse. Everyone asking questions I don't know how to answer.
Do you remember anything? A doctor with gray hair leans close. Any dreams? Any sensations?
I remember dying, I want to scream. I remember my sister and my fiancé poisoning me. I remember my body going numb, my vision going dark, the world disappearing into nothing.
But I can't say that. Because everyone keeps using the same word: coma.
You've been in a coma for four months, the gray-haired doctor explains gently. We thought we'd lost you. Your heart stopped for three minutes during the initial incident. But then you stabilized. We've been monitoring you at the hospital, but He shakes his head, amazed. This is unprecedented. A true miracle.
A coma. They think I was in a coma.
But I wasn't. I was dead. I know I was dead.
And that's when I see it.
Golden numbers, glowing on the doctor's wrist like someone wrote them in light. $25,000.
I blink. The numbers are still there.
I look at the nurse adjusting my IV. More golden numbers on her wrist: $12,000.
My heart starts racing. What is this? Am I going crazy?
I look at my father, sitting in the chair by my bed, holding my hand like he'll never let go. His wrist shows: $0.
Zero? What does that mean?
Aria? Dad squeezes my hand. Are you okay? You look pale.
I'm fine, I lie. Just tired.
The doctors run more tests. They shine lights in my eyes, check my reflexes, ask me to count backwards from one hundred. I do everything they ask while trying not to stare at the glowing numbers on their skin.
Everyone has them. Different amounts. Different places. Some on wrists, some above their heads like price tags floating in the air.
The numbers don't make sense yet. But I know they mean something. Something important.
Finally, after what feels like forever, everyone leaves. The doctors promise to return tomorrow. The nurses give my father instructions. And then it's just me and Dad, alone in my childhood bedroom.
I thought I lost you, Dad whispers. His eyes are red from crying. When they called me that night, when they said you'd collapsed at your engagement party, that they couldn't revive you His voice breaks. I wanted to die too.
Guilt twists in my stomach. He's been suffering for four months. Four months of thinking his daughter was gone.
I'm here now, I tell him, even though I don't understand how.
Dad kisses my forehead and leaves to make me soup. The moment he's gone, I run to the mirror again.
I need to see if I have numbers too. Everyone else does. What's mine?
I push up my sleeve and stare at my wrist.
Nothing.
No golden numbers. No glowing price tag. Just blank, pale skin.
That's wrong. That's so wrong.
Why is everyone else labelled with numbers except me?
I'm still staring at my empty wrist when I hear voices downstairs. Familiar voices that make my blood turn to ice.
such a shock, a woman says. Celeste. I can't believe she's awake. It's wonderful news.
We should visit her, a man replies. Julian. Show our support.
My hands start shaking. They're here. The people who murdered me are in my house right now.
I creep to my bedroom door and crack it open. I can hear them better now.
Do you think she remembers anything? Celeste asks quietly.
A pause. Then Julian: People in comas don't remember. The doctors said she might have memory loss. We're safe.
They think they're safe. They think I don't remember.
But I remember everything.
I look down at my wrist again, at the blank space where golden numbers should be. Everyone has a price written on their skin. Everyone wants something.
What do I want?
The answer comes to me clear as glass: revenge.
I want to destroy the people who killed me. I want them to pay for every second I spent drowning in darkness, for every tear my father cried, for every lie they told.
And now I'm back. Somehow, impossibly, I'm back.
Footsteps on the stairs. They're coming up.
I have seconds to decide: Do I pretend? Do I smile and hug them and act like I don't know what they did?
Or do I let them see the truth in my eyes that I remember, I know, and I'm going to make them suffer?
The doorknob starts to turn.
My heart pounds so hard it hurts.
The door opens.
Celeste stands there in a designer dress, her blonde hair perfect, her smile bright and fake. Behind her, Julian looks handsome and concerned, playing the role of the worried ex-fiancé.
But I can see what they really are now. Because floating above Celeste's head in glowing gold numbers is: $2.3 million.
And on Julian's wrist: $890,000.
I don't know what the numbers mean yet.
But I'm going to find out.
And then I'm going to use them to destroy both of them.
Aria! Celeste rushes forward like she's going to hug me. Oh my God, we were so worried!
I let her embrace me. I let Julian take my hand and squeeze it with fake concern.
And I smile.
Because they have no idea that the girl they killed isn't the same girl who came back.
I died.
And death changed me.
Timeline: Day 1, Morning