The first thing Galathea Brooks felt was gravity.
Not the abstract awareness of standing. Not the quiet assumption of weight.
Gravity-- heavy, immediate, undeniable.
It dragged her back into her body like something pulling her down from a height she hadn't realized she'd been suspended in.
Her knees hit the floor. Hard.
The impact cracked through her bones, sharp and real, and for a moment she couldn't breathe.
Sound rushed in next. Voices. Footsteps. The hum of machines. Too loud. Too much.
Galathea sucked in a breath that felt like it scraped her lungs raw.
"--steady--"
"Galathea--"
"Don't move--"
Hands reached for her.
She recoiled instinctively. "No--"
Her voice came out hoarse, unfamiliar.
The room tilted.
White light fractured into shapes that refused to stay still.
The chamber. She was back in the chamber but it didn't feel like a return.
It felt like being forced into something smaller. Too small.
The walls were too close. The air too thick.
