Olivia felt a violent, rhythmic jarring—a force trying to tear her out of the visceral abyss of her nightmare. Kyle's voice sounded distant, muffled as if he were shouting from beneath a fathomless ocean of lead.
"Olivia! Wake up! What have you done to yourself? Are you even breathing?"
She forced her eyelids open, the world splintering into blurred, fractured shards. Kyle's silhouette doubled and tripled before her disoriented gaze. With fingers that felt like carved ice, she reached out, trembling, to touch the warmth of his face—a desperate confirmation of life.
"Kyle? You're... you're breathing. I saw you cold. I saw the hollow in your chest... the blood... so much blood..."
Kyle recoiled, his features draining of color until he looked like a marble bust. "Dead? Olivia, what madness are you whispering? I am right here!" He caught her hand, pressing it against his skin as if to ground her. "Are you ill? Why were you collapsed here in such a state?"
