CASSIAN
The hallway of the hotel was no longer a solid, structural thing. It had become fluid, stretching ahead of me like a corridor in a funhouse mirror, warping and elongating with every leaden step I took.
My vision was the first thing to truly fail. The edges of the world blurred into a hazy, watercolor mess, everything slightly off-center as if I were looking through a foot of moving water. I reached out, my fingers grazing the expensive wallpaper to anchor myself. The texture was rough against my palm, a much-needed reminder that the floor wasn't actually vertical.
The headache wasn't just a pain; it was a rhythmic assault. It pounded behind my eyes, sharp and relentless, each footfall sending a fresh spike of agony through my skull. My balance was a joke. I felt the floor tilt beneath me, a phantom wave tossing me toward the wall. I caught myself, leaning heavily against the wood paneling, my breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches.
