Maxwell's POV
I was lying face-up on the hotel bed - if you could even call it a bed - with my feet still touching the floor, both arms spread wide on either side of me like I'd been crucified.
The ceiling above me had a water stain in the corner. The sheets beneath me smelled like cheap detergent and other people's bodies. The entire room screamed "budget traveler" with its beige walls, scratchy comforter, and the kind of carpet that had probably witnessed things I didn't want to think about.
If this were any other day, I wouldn't be caught dead lying on these contaminated sheets. I'd probably burn my clothes after leaving and consider getting a tetanus shot just to be safe.
But right now, in this moment, I didn't care about any of that.
The only thing I cared about - the only thing my battered, traumatized body and mind could focus on - was figuring out how the hell this disaster had happened to me.
What caused this? What did I eat?
