AYLA'S POV
Silence. Not peace — the wrong kind of silence. The kind that screams in your bones.
When I opened my eyes, the world was neither night nor day. A gray sky hung overhead, painted with drifting constellations that moved like they were alive. Beneath me was not earth but glass — smooth, cold, infinite. My reflection stared back: eyes glowing faint silver, hair tangled with sparks of gold light, blood streaking my neck.
I wasn't breathing. I wasn't dying, but I wasn't alive, either.
The Watcher's voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
"Do you see now, child of scent and flame? You were never meant to walk their world."
I turned slowly. The Watcher stood at the horizon — tall, still, faceless. But it wasn't alone. Dozens more figures hovered in the haze, pale as bone, silent as judgment. Their presence felt like a cold weight on my soul.
My pulse raced. "Where am I?"
"Between," it said. "The Hollow Between Stars. Where scent, time, and soul unravel."
