[IRIS POV]
Once again, I woke up in an infirmary, staring up at the blank white ceiling. My head was spinning, and my throat was parched. I let out a weak cough. My lips felt horrendously dry― actually, my entire body felt like a towel wrung out to dry.
"...What…" I blinked rapidly, trying to recall the night's events.
The alleyway. The men. My backpack. My money.
Caius.
Immediately, I tried to sit up, frantically looking for my backpack and my wallet while ignoring the protests of all my muscles. My eyes darted around my bed. Healer Felix often kept the patient's belongings in a tiny basket next to their respective infirmary beds, but I didn't have one. There was only a chair next to me, and there was nothing on it.
It couldn't be gone. It just couldn't. I needed that money as much as I needed my life.
