Then memory rushes back so suddenly it steals what little breath I have.
The bridge rushing toward us.
Cain’s voice, calm in the worst possible moment.
“Jump!”
The sound of metal tearing apart.
Black water swallowing everything.
My eyes fly open.
The light cuts through my skull, and my eyes are already burning before I even understand why. I squeeze them shut again, pressing my palms flat against the mattress, terrified of what I’ll find when I open them. I lift them slowly—just a sliver, then a little more—blinking through the blur while the room tilts and sways, and I dig my fingers into the sheets like that might keep me from sliding off the edge of everything.
I need a second to understand what I’m seeing. Everything around me is white. Not soft white. Not clean white. A dead, hostile kind of white that makes the room feel less like a place for healing and more like something built to erase people inside it.
I instinctively try to rub my eyes, but my arms barely move. I stay there staring at the ceiling, confused and waiting for my body to respond. When it doesn’t, frustration starts creeping in. I yank harder, and sharp pressure cuts into my wrists. The sound that leaves me is small and sharp, more fear than voice.
I yank at both arms again, then my legs, then my whole body at once, and something violent explodes in my chest when I feel every point keeping me pinned down.
My wrists are strapped to the bed. My ankles too. Something broad and tight crosses my waist, keeping me pinned flat no matter how hard I fight.
“No… no, no…” The words tumble out weak and breathless.
My head turns frantically from side to side as I try to make sense of where I am. The walls are padded with smooth vinyl panels, no seams worth grabbing, no edges worth breaking. Even when I gasp, the sound seems swallowed before it reaches the room. The ceiling light is caged behind thick plastic. There is no window, no curtains, no furniture, except the bed bolted to the floor. No loose object anywhere, no glass, no metal corner, no handle on the door. Nothing that can be used. Nothing that can help.
I look down at myself and feel a fresh terror climb my throat. A white institutional gown hangs from my shoulders, shapeless and humiliating, tied behind my back. My legs are bare. My feet are cold. My right hand has tape wrapped across it, and beneath the tape sits a cannula lodged in my vein, connected to a clear tube that runs upward into a port hidden in the wall above my head. I stare at it in disbelief before I start pulling again.
“Let me go!” My voice cracks so badly it barely sounds like mine.
I twist, buck, wrench against every restraint until pain streaks through my shoulders and wrists, but nothing loosens. Whoever designed this place understood desperation well enough to prepare for it.
“Please!” I scream louder, tears spilling hot into my hair. “Somebody help me! Let me out!” No footsteps come. No nurse rushes in. No startled voice asks what happened. There is only the sound of me unraveling.
My breathing turns uneven as I force myself to stay still for one second, trying to think through the chaos tearing through my head.
I remember the crash.
I remember the river.
I remember strangers above me, lights flashing, people shouting.
After that… Nothing.
How did I get here?
Where is here?
Why am I tied down?
A horrible possibility slides into my mind.
Cain.
My stomach twists so violently I nearly gag.
Did he tell them I’m insane?!
