Liu Xian blinked, once, twice, the world slowly bleeding back into focus. The ground beneath him wasn't sticky anymore—it was cold metal, polished enough that he could see a faint reflection of his face. He pushed himself up on his elbows, grimacing as every joint in his body complained at once. His vision swam for a moment before settling.
And then he froze.
Both hands.
They were there—whole. His fingers flexed automatically, slow, disbelieving. He turned his wrist, watching light reflect off the familiar fabric of his uniform. He wasn't missing an arm.
The relief he felt was beyond words.
Everything was exactly as it had been before the trial.
Except for him.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth, blinked it away, and forced himself to look around.
He was in a hall.
