Miria.
The scent of antiseptic stings my nose first, followed by the sterile coldness of the room. The steady beeping of machines grates against my senses. My body feels heavy, my limbs slow to respond, but the fire in my chest is all too real.
Miria.
Kronos stirs inside me, a restless, prowling presence. His growl echoes in my mind, a single word cutting through the haze.
Miria.
I lurch upward, my vision blurring as the room spins. The last thing I remember is the forest—the gunshot, her scream, the way the light caught in her eyes.
Mate.
