A deafening roar swallowed everything. My body was hurled through the air as unbearable heat and pain engulfed me. Darkness consumed my world.
I remembered nothing from that day—only the feeling of someone helping me.
Weeks later, I woke up in a sterile, unfamiliar space. The sharp scent of antiseptic burned my nose, and the rhythmic beeping of machines filled my ears. My entire body ached, as if I had been torn apart and stitched back together.
I forced my heavy eyelids open. White walls. A hospital.
With effort, I rasped, "What… happened?"
The sound of a chair scraping against the floor made me try to turn my head, but even the slightest movement sent a searing pain through my skull.
"You're awake."
A woman stepped into view. She was tall, her features sharp, her dark hair tied back in a precise knot. A white coat marked her as a doctor.
"I'm Dr. Chelsea," she said. "You're at my clinic."
The explosion. The memory surged back like a nightmare. "The… the blast…"
"You barely survived," she said, her tone clinical. "It's a miracle you're alive."
My fingers twitched. Something felt wrong. "M-My face…"