Whispers of the Forgotten

Isla woke to a searing pain, a fiery lance piercing her neck. The memory of Maya's attack came crashing back. The wound throbbed, a dark tapestry of purple and black marred the skin surrounding the injury. A sharp breath escaped her lips as she attempted to reposition her head. A fresh wave of pain washed over her. Her eyes, still clouded with the remnants of sleep, focused on the figure beside her.

Theo was there, his gaze heavy with worry.

"Stay still," he murmured softly, already reaching for a warm compress to ease the swelling. His touch was gentle, the warmth from the cloth soothing the throbbing pain.

Isla watched him through half-lidded eyes, feeling a strange mix of comfort and unease.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"It hurts," she whispered, barely able to muster the strength to speak.