Victor's POV
My eyelids fought against consciousness, heavy and reluctant, like my body had forgotten how to wake up. The sterile white ceiling stretched endlessly above me, too pristine, too perfect in a way that made something twist uncomfortably in my gut. I stayed motionless, trying to piece together fragments of reality that felt foreign and distant.
The infirmary. That's where I was.
Without thinking, my hand shot to my throat, fingers desperately searching for what should have been there. A gash. Torn flesh. Evidence of the brutal attack that had nearly ended me. But my fingertips found only unmarked skin, smooth and whole.
I pressed harder, disbelief flooding through me.
