POV: Aphrodite
Survival becomes intimate.
I don't know how long I'm out. It might be seconds. It might be longer. The first thing I'm aware of is the cold of the rock against the side of my face — gritty and damp, with the particular mineral smell of stone that hasn't seen light in a long time — and then the pressure. Something across my back and my ribs, heavy and unmoving, and the sound of breathing close to my ear that is too controlled to be unconscious but not controlled enough to be fine.
I open my eyes.
