Joy/Grief

“Blake,” a soft voice called, pulling me from the suffocating void of unconsciousness. “Can you hear me?”

My eyes fluttered open, and reality came crashing down. Last night came to me—blood, fear. For a moment, I wished it had all been a dream.

Panic clawed at my chest, and I bolted upright, scanning the unfamiliar room in frantic confusion. The dim lighting and muted colours of the walls did nothing to calm me.

“What’s happening?” I asked, my voice trembling with uncertainty.

From a corner of the room, Mixo observed me silently, his expression unreadable. Ginevra was seated beside me on the bed, his gaze heavy with concern, guilt, or both.

“Blake,” another voice spoke, soft and no doubt commanding. Jezebel. She stood near the door, her presence exuding calm despite the tension hanging in the air.

“Everyone, please leave us,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Except for you, Ginevra.”