CHAPTER 277: Beneath Still Waters
Sophia didn't wake all at once.
It came in pieces.
A slow awareness first—like her mind was climbing up through thick water, every thought heavy and dragging. Then the faint recognition of cold against her skin. Not the sharp, biting cold of snow or wind, but the kind of cold that crept along damp stone and lived there forever.
Her lashes trembled.
Her eyes opened, and she took in the room.
The ceiling above her swam, a blur of pale shapes and shadows. It took a few seconds before it focused enough for her to recognize it—the same wooden beams, the same faint crack that ran across one corner like a fracture frozen in time.
She was still here.
The same room.
The same bed.
For a moment, she simply lay there, staring.
A thin layer of sweat coated her skin despite the chill, clinging to her like another sheet. Her breathing was shallow, shaky, as if each breath had to be bargained for.
And then she noticed it.
The quiet.
