I was dragged back into reality somehow.
I woke up to chaos.
Alarms shrieked sharply, drilling relentlessly into my skull. My chest ached, heavy, pressure pushing against my lungs as if someone was forcing air into a body that had forgotten how to breathe.
"Clear!"
The shock slammed through me, my back arched, pain detonating everywhere at once. Again.
A broken gasp tore from my throat. Shapes swam into focus—white coats, masked faces, lights far too bright, instruments clanging in impossible rhythm.
"She's back," a familiar male voice said. Dr. Harlan. "Pulse stabilizing. Good. She's here now."
Hands pulled away, and I coughed violently, throat raw as sandpaper.
"You can't come in yet," he said firmly to someone outside. "She's not stable."
Not stable.
The words echoed in my head as I tried to lift myself, but my arms felt heavy, useless, like dead weight. A nurse rushed to my side—a young woman, kind-eyed, soft hands.
"No, miss, easy," she murmured. "Lie back."
