After a few hours of darkness and the muffled beating of her own blood in her ears, Elysia drifted back into half-consciousness.
When she finally opened her eyes, night had already fallen.
The dormitory lights were dim; the hallways were empty.
Pain wrapped itself around her like a wet cloth — a slow, throbbing ache that crawled from her shoulder down into her ribs and legs.
She pushed herself up on trembling arms and tasted iron.
The corner of her mouth was sticky with dried blood.
For a moment she only looked at the ceiling, letting the wave of dizziness pass.
Then she forced herself to sit up. The room swam around her; shadows tilted and swayed.
Elysia slid off and stood unsteadily.
Each movement sent hot knives through her body.
Her limbs felt like they belonged to someone else—heavy, slow, reluctant.
She stumbled toward the door and checked the corridor through the crack: empty. Good. No footsteps, no muffled voices.
