(Eamond's POV)
My eyes opened to a strange ceiling. White. Too clean. Lit by some gentle, steady glow that reminded me of starlight, but warmer somehow.
For a moment, my mind spun, clawing for answers — where am I, where is everyone, what happened?
Panic tightened my ribs before I could even move.
I tried to bolt upright — but pain seized me, vicious and immediate, biting through my chest like knives. A strangled groan tore from my throat as I sank back against unfamiliar, impossibly soft sheets.
Breathing hard, I scanned the room. The walls were smooth, painted a pale, calming color I didn't recognize, lined with shelves of herbs and vials. The air smelled faintly of lavender and something sharper, like antiseptic.
Not the hall… not the battlefield.
Garret—!
My heart seized again, until a familiar silhouette steadied me like an anchor.
There, in a straight-backed wooden chair pulled close to the bedside, sat Aile.
