CHAPTER 1

    The night was colder than I could ever remember. The kind of cold that bit into your fingers even through gloves and fogged the edges of the windshield faster than the heater could keep up.

    I was halfway across the old bridge when the snow started again, thick flakes falling like bits of torn paper. The tires slid slightly on the slick surface, and I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, leaning forward to see through the blur of white. My eyes burned from exhaustion. It had been a long shift at the hospital—another night spent on my feet tending to people who never even remembered your face.

    The radio hummed softly in the background. I don’t even remember the song. I just remember the way my eyelids felt heavier and heavier.

    I blinked. Once. Twice.

    And then came the horn.

    I jolt upright, heart slamming against my ribs. Headlights explode in front of me — a massive truck, skidding sideways, coming straight at me.

     I yank the wheel left. Tires scream. The world spins.

    Metal tears. Glass shatters. Weightlessness.

    The railing gives way with a sickening crunch and then I’m falling — plunging into black water below.

    The impact slams my head against the window. Stars burst in my vision. The car hits once, twice, then stops nose-first as freezing water gushes through cracks in the doors.

   “ No—no, no, no!” My voice sounds small, broken. My breath comes in short, sharp bursts.

    I scramble for the door handle and yank it hard. It won’t move. Pressure from outside pins it shut. Water creeps across my shoes, soaks into my jeans. My chest tightens, panic crawling up my throat.

    Where’s my phone? Gone. Seatbelt digs into my shoulder as I pull it, clawing at the lock. It jams. I slam it again and again until my palm stings.

    The water climbs to my waist. It’s so cold it burns, slicing through me like glass. My body trembles violently. I kick the window with my heel. The glass just shivers. My breath fogs the air.

    My teeth chatter so hard my jaw aches. The air feels heavier, thinner. Water rises to my ribs, my chest, my neck. I lift my chin to the roof, gasping for space.

    “ Please…” It’s a whisper, cracked with fear.

    My fingers are numb. The window crank won’t budge. My lungs burn. The cold is in my veins, my bones. The car creaks, sinking deeper into the icy depths below.

    Water touches my lips. Instinct screams at me to breathe, but there’s nothing to breathe. I try to scream, but it comes out a sob. My chest goes into spasms. Five seconds. Ten. The pain in my chest explodes, sharp and unbearable. My vision blurs.

    I can’t hold it anymore.

    I inhale. Icy water rushes into my lungs like knives. Agony. I’m choking, suffocating, but my body is already going still. My mind screams but my limbs don’t obey. Darkness closes in. Flashes — my life going by so fast.

   And then — light.

   A golden light bursts around me, blinding, cutting through the water like the sun under the sea. It shimmers too bright, rippling across my skin like liquid fire.

    Hands — warm, impossibly warm — grab my shoulders. The pain eases. My body goes limp. The cold fades. The water disappears and darkness swallows me.

                                                                      -----

    Coldness.

    I could still feel it, even after everything went dark. It clung to me — inside me — as if the water had carved itself into my bones.

    My vision was a blur of shapes and light. I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or dead. Soft, glowing orbs floated above me, pulsing like heartbeats. They weren’t lights, not really. They looked… alive.

    The air was thick with the scent of herbs and crushed berries — sweet and sharp at the same time. I wanted to breathe it in, but each breath burned, scraping down my throat like sandpaper.

    I coughed, the sound weak and rough. My chest ached, and when I tried to move, something heavy slid off me — a blanket, rough but warm. Slowly, I blinked the haze away, and a beige canvas ceiling came into focus.

     A tent?

    My heart started to race. I turned my head, wincing as the motion made my temples throb. All around me, the air shimmered faintly with light — from crystals. Dozens of them. They hung from strings, rested on wooden shelves, and glowed with soft, pulsing colors — blues, greens, and golds that flickered like fireflies.

    The walls of the tent shifted slightly in the wind. Outside, I could hear the faint rustle of leaves and something else — soft chanting, like voices carried on a breeze.

    I pushed myself up on my elbows. The blanket slipped down, revealing a thin, cotton shirt I didn’t recognize. My jeans were gone, replaced by loose linen pants. Someone had changed my clothes. My pulse quickened.

    To my left stood a tall wooden shelf, old and uneven, crammed full of strange things — bundles of dried herbs tied with twine, glass bottles filled with swirling liquids that glowed faintly in the dim light, and small clay bowls of powder that shimmered when I moved.

    A low table beside the bed was covered with more of them — herbs, folded cloth, a steaming bowl of something that smelled faintly of mint and smoke.

    I swallowed hard, wincing as pain shot down my throat. “ Where… am I?”

    The words came out broken and hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

    This wasn’t a hospital. There was no smell of disinfectant, no machines, no steady beep of monitors. Instead, the air felt alive — humming faintly, like the world itself was breathing.

    I rubbed my hands together, trying to stop the shiver crawling down my spine. My fingers brushed the soft blanket — woven with silver thread that caught the crystal light. It was beautiful, but not human. Nothing here felt human.