Elias woke to the taste of… something in his mouth.
It took him a moment to realize it wasn't a fever dream.
He lay still, eyes open, staring at the faint crack in the ceiling above his bed while his body caught up to itself.
The pressure behind his ribs was there, as it always was now—low, constant and irritating.
He lifted a hand.
It shook.
Not violently nor enough that anyone else would notice at a glance. Just enough that the movement didn't obey him the way it should have.
Elias frowned.
He rolled onto his side and pushed himself up slowly, careful not to move too fast.
The room tilted anyway.
He closed his eyes until it steadied, then reached up and wiped beneath his nose.
His fingers came away red.
"…That's…" he stared at his hands with growing horror.
