The rhythmic ticking of the clock was the first sound she heard when she opened her eyes. Then came the soft crackle of the fireplace and the faint scent of chamomile. Her lashes fluttered.
The ceiling wasn't the glittering ballroom one. It was cream-white, familiar — her bedroom ceiling. A faint groan slipped from her lips.
"...Where…?"
"You're home."
Came a calm voice. Not Elijah's, not her mothers' — his. Andrew sat on the armchair beside her bed, a folded towel resting on his lap, his shirt sleeves rolled up. His hair was slightly messy — the kind of messy that said he'd been here for hours. Relief softened his sharp eyes when she stirred.
"About time, Sleeping Beauty."
Tina blinked, confusion clouding her face. Her throat felt dry.
"...What happened?"
"You fainted."
Andrew said, voice gentle but firm.
"At the gala. Scared everyone half to death."
Her brows knit together.
"I— I don't faint."
"Yeah, that's what you said before you hit the floor."
