I was back.
Same sterile scent. Same hospital room with the faint hum of machines and pale sunlight seeping through the curtains.
And just like that—I realized I'd returned to the exact moment I first woke up here.
Not a minute ahead. Not even a second late.
I was back in that scene. Round one, all over again.
My body lay in the hospital bed, covered in crisp white sheets. My chest rose and fell steadily, but this time, I stayed still, feigning unconsciousness.
I didn't open my eyes. Not yet.
Right on cue, I heard the soft shuffle of footsteps outside the door. Then came the click—quiet but distinct—as the handle turned and the door creaked open.
Christian entered with the doctor at his side, their voices low.
"She's still asleep?" the doctor asked, stepping closer.
Christian moved beside my bed. I felt his eyes on me, studying my face for any flicker of awareness.
I kept my breathing even. My lashes didn't twitch. I gave them nothing.
