Consciousness didn't come rushing back; it crept in like a slow, heavy tide, pulling him from a dark, dreamless abyss. Jin felt the softness beneath him—a medical cot, a comforting promise compared to the cold, unyielding metal that lingered in his memory. His skin buzzed with awareness, sluggish and heavy, as if his limbs were wrapped in damp cloth.
Nearby, a gentle chorus of feminine voices floated through the air—murmurs that felt like a soothing balm. His eyelids fluttered but refused to open, weighed down by exhaustion as if bound by invisible chains. A faint breath escaped him—a raw, dry groan that broke the silence.
"He's awake!" Clara's urgent voice sliced through the fog, her words tumbling over one another. He could hear the rapid thump of footsteps rushing across the floor. "Jin? Can you hear me? It's Clara. You're in the Command Wing. You're safe. Please don't move; your vitals are… stabilizing."
