KODA'S POV
The heat of light pressed against my eyelids like heated metal. Each pulse of it sent spikes through my skull, a rhythm that matched the fire crawling through my chest. I kept my eyes sealed shut, focusing on the simple act of breathing. In. Out. Each breath scraped against something raw in my throat.
My limbs felt carved from granite. When I tried to flex my fingers, lightning shot up my arms. The surface beneath me was too soft, too clean—sheets that smelled of lavender instead of straw and horse sweat. That wrongness alone forced my eyes open.
White ceiling. No rough stone, no flickering torches casting dancing shadows. Pale light of dawn filtered through tall windows, casting jeweled patterns across smooth walls. I was in the palace infirmary. Again.
"You're awake."
