Adam crossed the garden, the wind caressing him with mocking gentleness, its touch like salt rubbed into wounds. Though a halo of healing light surrounded him, knitting flesh, blood still seeped from irregular scarlet lines where burnt flesh had cracked open like overcooked eggs. But the worst wasn't the pain—it was the scent. It clung to him, ensuring he tasted the grotesque perfume with every breath.
When he reached the dorm's lounge, he sank into a pale grey sofa without bothering to check if students were around. He had seen very few on his way—most likely busy with classes. The cushions hissed against his cracked flesh as he leaned back, sighing through twisted lips.
He let out a grunt, just as steady footsteps echoed from the stairs.
