Time did not exist in the darkness. There was only the steady, rhythmic hiss of a mechanical ventilator, the rhythmic chirping of cardiac monitors, and the pervasive, sterile scent of bleach and iodine.

But beneath the hospital sounds, there was a constant, unrelenting anchor: Julian.

I was trapp

*“Phina?”*

The voice was a jagged whisper, tearing through the heavy veil of my unconsciousness.

Opening my eyes felt like trying to lift a pair of iron vaults. My eyelids fluttered, protesting the sudden, blinding sting of the hospital room’s fluorescent lights. Everything was a blurry wash of

Six months later.

The coastal wind whipped through my hair, carrying the sharp, salty tang of the ocean. I closed my eyes, tipping my head back to let the afternoon sun warm my face. It was a simple sensation—the heat of the sun, the chill of the breeze—but after a year trapped in an ethereal void,