Fuzzy. Misty. Dreamy. The edges of my vision blurred in and out, as if I were peering through a fogged window. A door loomed in front of me—familiar yet distant. I couldn’t quite place it, but my feet carried me closer, the ground beneath me soft and soundless, like walking on air.

My hand reached out hesitantly, and the cool metal of the doorknob sent a faint shiver through me. It was locked—or was it? The lightest twist, and it clicked open. The door swung wide with no effort at all.

Inside, a bathroom. Dim light flickered overhead, casting long shadows that danced like specters across the walls. On a small wooden bench, a girl lay curled up, her form fragile and still. Her face was turned away, but I didn’t need to see it. I knew it was me.

How? What is this?

A sharp pang spread through my chest, sudden and unbearable. My breath quickened, shallow and thin, as if the air itself was slipping through my grasp. The sensation was overwhelming, suffocating—until it wasn’t. As quickly as it began, my breath steadied, as though something, somewhere, had willed it so.

“She fell asleep,” a voice said. It came from me, but it wasn’t mine. Detached, distant, like a whisper from the edges of the room. “She doesn’t seem to be doing well... We should put her to bed. Can you carry her? Better you than me.”

A deep, dull sensation swept through me. The scene shifted as I turned, and my gaze lifted toward the hallway. Zane stood there, his expression unusually serious, a gravity about him that seemed out of place on his otherwise playful features.

“Kai,” Zane’s voice echoed softly, but there was a weight in his tone that made it feel louder, heavier. The words stretched unnaturally, their edges fraying like a recording slowly warping out of sync. “…not sure… better it’ll… be… but I’ll… try. Don’t… worry…”

The hallway behind him rippled, its straight lines bending and folding as if it had been painted with water and someone had run a careless brush over it. Zane’s figure flickered—one moment sharp and vivid, the next faint and translucent, like he was caught between two realities. His serious expression held steady, though it felt… off, almost misplaced on his normally teasing face.

I couldn’t understand what he was saying anymore. His voice cracked and splintered, the sound breaking apart like glass under too much pressure. Words crumbled into incomprehensible fragments, slipping through my grasp as if I had reached out to catch smoke. The light above dimmed, flickered, then blinked out entirely.

And then everything faded—his voice, the light, the hallway—until all that remained was silence and the vague sensation of falling away.

----------------------------------------

I jerked my eyes open with a sharp intake of breath, the ghost of the dream clinging to my mind.

Sunlight seeped through the windows, pulling me back to reality. The warmth hit my face, making me squint as my vision adjusted to the sudden brightness. The faint chirping of birds filtered in, breaking the silence left behind by the dream.

Too bright. Too cheerful. Too... pink?

I blinked, my gaze darting around as disorientation crept in. Above me, a ceiling in a soft blush hue loomed, glowing faintly in the sunlight. Rosy wallpaper lined the walls, adorned with vines and blooms that seemed to climb endlessly. Mirrors—far too many mirrors—reflected the overwhelming floral decor from every angle. Even the flower-shaped wall clock read 7 a.m., its frame painted in a pastel pink that teetered between cheerful and saccharine. The room looked like someone had lost a bet to a fairy-tale princess and decided to double down on the theme. I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or slightly appalled.

I sat up slowly, groaning as my body protested. Every movement was a reminder of the stiffness lingering in my muscles. My head throbbed faintly, but it wasn’t the searing, unbearable pain I remembered.

What happened last night?

I massaged my temples, trying to piece together the scattered fragments of memory. Pain, disorientation… someone carried me. The details blurred, slippery and frustratingly out of reach. My brain refused to fill in the gaps, but one thing was clear: I’d been completely out of it.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stretched carefully, wincing at the dull ache that still clung to me. My muscles groaned in protest, but the pain was no longer unbearable—just a lingering reminder of how battered I’d been. As I stood, my gaze landed on a full-size mirror quietly propped against the wall. I hesitated before stepping closer, drawn by a strange curiosity, as if I’d forgotten what I even looked like as a whole person.

When I caught my reflection fully, I froze.

The bruises and swelling on my face had faded significantly, though faint traces of discoloration still ghosted my cheekbones and jawline. My dark, shoulder-length hair hung neatly, brushed smooth as if someone had taken deliberate care to fix it. My warm brown skin—normally dull and uneven—looked inexplicably brighter, as if the layers of stress and exhaustion that usually weighed me down had been peeled back ever so slightly. Cuts that once stung now bore signs of healing, with a light sheen of petroleum jelly visible on my lips, softening the dry cracks beneath.

Stepping closer to the mirror, I noticed something else: the large bandages that had once covered me were gone, replaced by smaller ones only on the worst scrapes. The stiffness was still there, but my limbs felt oddly stronger, steadier, than they should have. Despite the dull ache, I could move more easily, like the deep weakness I’d felt before had lifted, if only slightly.

I glanced down at myself and paused. Pink again. An oversized pink T-shirt hung loosely on me, the sleeves brushing just below my elbows. The matching pink pajama pants were a little too long, the cuffs pooling slightly over my bare feet. Both were soft, clean, and absurdly bright—completely at odds with everything about me. At least, they are comfortable.

I shifted, rolling my shoulder gingerly, and a faint twinge of pain shot through it. It burned, but nothing unmanageable. My injuries… I couldn’t even remember all of them. I was pretty sure I’d broken something—probably a few things. Not exactly new territory for me. I thought back to the hazy night on the bridge, to the unsteady numbness that had settled in my hands and legs back then, and compared it to now.

Stronger. That was the word that came to mind, though I couldn’t quite explain why. It didn’t make sense, but it was irrefutable.

How? What had they done to me? Whoever these people are—still suspicious as hell, obviously—they must have done something right… They must also have one hell of an in-house doctor.

I blinked, tilting my head as I examined myself more closely. My deer-like eyes—narrow but expressive—stared back at me, framed by faint shadows, though less pronounced than I’d expected. My rounded nose and full lips still bore remnants of swelling, but the marks weren’t as jarring as they had been. Despite the lingering injuries, I looked… better. Weirdly better than I had in a long time.

The thought unsettled me. When was the last time I looked like this—like someone who had actually slept well?

The answer didn’t come, and that realization sat in my stomach like a heavy boulder. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d truly rested—without waking to chaos, to something breaking or crashing around me. And yet, here I was, in a strange house under even stranger circumstances, having slept so deeply and long that I… felt good. I wasn’t sure what to do with this uneasy swell of emotions.

As I stared at my reflection more, something about it felt off. Incomplete. My hand rose instinctively to the bridge of my nose, where my glasses should have been. Of course. My glasses. Even last night, in the bathroom, face-to-face with the mirror, I hadn’t once thought about them. I’ve gone this long without even noticing they’re missing?

Now that I thought about it, I must have lost them in the chaos before the bridge—probably trampled or left behind in the forest during one of the many times I fell. Forgotten, like so much else, as everything spiraled out of control. It wasn’t like I couldn’t go without my glasses; my prescription wasn’t that strong. But even so, it felt like I was seeing better than I remembered. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t noticed they were gone. Well, that and the dull, persistent headache that clung to me like a second shadow.

I blinked at my reflection, tilting my head slightly. Without my glasses, I looked… different. Exposed. Almost unfamiliar, like the person staring back wasn’t quite the version of myself I’d grown used to. I’d been wearing glasses since I was a kid, and it had been years since I last updated them. In a way, they’d been my most reliable companion, always there.

The thought struck me as absurdly sad—so much so that an incredulous laugh bubbled in my throat but never quite escaped.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

With a sigh, I brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear and stepped back from the mirror.

There isn’t much to do about the glasses now. At least, I can see,… more or less.

My gaze then landed on a sticky note on the mirror:

When we changed your dressings, we tried to wash your hair and clean you again as well. So you should be good for now, but if you still want to freshen up, we’ve left clothes, towels, and toiletries on the dressing table. Feel free to help yourself to anything in the room. And if you are hungry, just come down or call us. It’s 00 extension with the telephone.

– Ailee and Aimee

I stared at the note. It was thoughtful. Too thoughtful. Strangers don’t just do this kind of thing.

Am I being held captive? Drugged? What if… they’re traffickers?

My stomach growled, breaking the tension and dragging me out of my spiraling thoughts.

Seriously? You are hungry now?

My stomach growled again, louder this time, as if it were making fun of me.

I glanced at the note on the mirror once more, the cheery handwriting almost daring me to let my guard down. Clothes, towels, toiletries, food—all conveniently laid out for me like I was a guest of honor at some bizarrely polite hostage situation. My instincts screamed at me to stay on edge, but the gnawing ache in my belly was impossible to ignore.

I need to eat something. My thoughts wavered, oscillating between my fear and my body’s demands. But what if the food has something in it? What if they’re testing me to see if I’ll trust them?

I shook my head. No, stop spiraling, Zara. You need your strength if you want to get out of here. You’re already in their hands as is. If they wanted to harm you, they wouldn’t need breakfast to do it.

The logic was flimsy at best, but it was enough to get me moving.

I scanned the room, searching for anything that could double as a weapon without being blatantly obvious. The mirrors were too large to break quietly, and everything else seemed deliberately soft or decorative. My eyes fell on the dressing table, where an air freshener can sat among the neatly arranged toiletries. It wasn’t ideal, but it was heavy enough to pack a punch—or at least spray into someone’s eyes and buy me a moment to run. Best of all, it could easily pass as something innocent if questioned.

With the can clutched in my hand, I approached the door, every step a battle between my hunger and my fear. My fingers hovered over the doorknob. You have to eat. Just grab something safe, like fruit, and get out. The thought of encountering someone downstairs made my stomach twist, but the hunger clawing at me was worse.

I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and cracked the door open. The hallway beyond was a stark contrast to the room. The overwhelming pink gave way to muted, aesthetic tones—soft grays, whites, and earthier shades that felt deliberate and calming. The floor was smooth wood, cool under my bare feet, and faintly creaked as I stepped forward.

The scent of food grew stronger as I followed the hallway, mingling with the sound of faint voices. My grip tightened around the air freshener. The stairs loomed ahead, and I descended slowly, my heart pounding louder with each step. The light from the kitchen spilled into the lower hall, warm and inviting, but it only made me more cautious.

I reached the bottom of the stairs and hesitated, peeking around the corner into the kitchen. My stomach dropped. I’d naively hoped it would be empty, but instead, two figures were there—a tall woman stood near the counter, carefully arranging something on a tray, while Zane stood casually, chatting with her.

I immediately started to retreat, but Zane’s alluring voice cut through the air. “Hey, don’t be shy. Come on in.”

My stomach sank further. Even though his tone was light, it froze me in place. Slowly, reluctantly, I stepped into view, gripping the air freshener tighter as I tried to steady my breathing.

“Hi! Good morning,” The tall woman said with a kind smile, her eyes briefly flicking to the can in my hand before looking back at my face. “Feeling better?”

I forced a small nod, unsure how much of my voice would betray me if I spoke. Zane’s eyes drifted to the air freshener, one brow quirking up. “Interesting choice of accessory.”

I fumbled for a response, my voice faltering like a poorly tuned instrument. “Uh… I didn’t like the smell upstairs. It, um, gives me a headache.” What are you even saying, Zara?

Zane didn’t miss a beat, his lips curving into a knowing smile. “Fair enough. Gotta keep the vibes right.”

She chuckled silently and picked up the tray, which I assumed had her breakfast on it. “I’ll leave you two to it. I have some chores to do in my room. Zane, keep her company, will you?”

“You got it, Ailee,” Zane replied smoothly, watching as she disappeared into the hallway.

So, she’s Ailee.

His attention shifted back to me, his smile still gentle but more curious now. He extended a hand casually. “By the way, I’m Zane. I don’t think I got a chance to properly introduce myself before.”

I paused for half a second before taking his hand briefly. His grip was firm yet easy, the casual warmth of his voice spreading an unexpected sense of calm. “Zara,” I said softly, barely louder than a whisper.

“Zara,” he repeated, almost like he was testing the name. His lips curled slightly at the corners, an understated but genuine smile forming. “Nice to meet you.”

Leaning against the counter, he tilted his head slightly, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. “So, are you planning to eat, or just redecorate with that air freshener?”

I wavered while setting the can down, my eyes flicking to the spread on the counter. A bowl of fruit sat near the edge, and I instinctively reached for it, plucking an apple from the pile. It seemed like the safest option—easy to carry, hard to tamper with. “This is fine,” I said quietly, clutching the apple like a lifeline.

Zane didn’t push, his expression remaining easygoing as he gave a small nod. “Suit yourself.”

Oddly, the fact that he didn’t try to convince me otherwise made me feel a little more at ease. He let me be, and in a situation where I felt like I had no control—though cautious, I welcomed the small comfort.

His eyes stayed on me, bright and intent, as I took a cautious bite of the apple. The crisp sweetness exploded on my tongue, sharp and refreshing, cutting through the tension in my chest. The first bite only made me realize how truly hungry I was—no, starving. I hadn’t eaten properly in what might actually be ages, and now my stomach growled in quiet desperation, urging me to take another bite and another.

I nibbled at it slowly at first, savoring the relief it brought, but when I glanced up, my focus wavered. A teasing smile curved his plush lips—not mocking, but with just enough charm to make me wonder if he was enjoying this moment more than he let on. His wavy hair framed his face effortlessly, the kind of disheveled that didn’t feel careless but seemed to belong to someone who never had to try. Combined with the quiet confidence in his gaze, it was almost distracting enough to make me forget the hunger that still gnawed at my stomach.

I had to mentally smack myself to stop getting carried away by the way his eyes lingered, steady and warm, and remind myself that he was still very much a stranger—and that I had more important things to think about.

Zane’s gaze stayed on me as I took another bite of the apple, his expression unreadable but gentle. After a moment, he tilted his head slightly. “Kai told me… you don’t remember anything?” he asked, his voice quiet, careful.

My grip tightened around the half-eaten apple, my knuckles going white as I forced myself to nod, looking fixedly at the floor. “Yeah,” I murmured, barely audible, my voice betraying none of the storms in my chest. It was easier to lie—safer. If they’re the wrong kind of people, they can’t know. And if they’re not, that’s all the more reason to keep it from them.

Zane didn’t question it, his nod slow and thoughtful. He let the silence settle between us, and for that, I was grateful.

“You know,” He said after a beat, glancing at the apple in my hand, “that’s a good start, but it won’t do much for you on its own. How about I make some plain scrambled eggs? Nothing fancy, I promise. I’ll even taste-test it first if you’re worried I’ve got ulterior motives.”

I paused mid-bite, caught between the polite refusal already forming on my lips and the loud growl of my stomach, which he definitely heard. My hunger was impossible to ignore—the apple wasn’t enough, not even close—but caution held me back.

“That’s not necessary,” I said quickly, my voice more pointed than I intended.

Zane's lips curved into a slight pout that made my heart stumble. “Alright,” he said lightly. “If you change your mind, just let me know.”

“Also,” he added, his eyes darting briefly to my shoulder, “I think your bandage shifted while you were sleeping.” He gestured toward the back of my shoulder, where the oversized t-shirt I’d been given hung loosely, partially exposing my shoulder.

My free hand instinctively moved to fix it, but as I stretched my arm, a sharp jolt stung my shoulder, freezing it mid-motion. I winced, the hesitation unmistakable.

“Here, let me.” Zane stepped closer without waiting for a response, his movements smooth and deliberate. Before I could protest, he gently adjusted the bandage, his fingers brushing briefly against my skin.

I turned my head away, an awkward tightness knotting in my chest as I tried to ignore the flush rising to my cheeks. His touch was steady, unassuming, and left a lingering ease that somehow dulled the ache in my shoulder. For a fleeting moment, I felt lighter—less overwhelmed. But even as the tension faded, a quiet voice in the back of my mind reminded me why I had to stay cautious—kindness can be feigned, and so can charm.

“There,” he said, stepping back with an easy smile. “Good as new.”

To my surprise, I found myself smiling back a little, despite the quiet voice rebelling inside. But before I could process the moment, the sound of footsteps broke through my thoughts, making me stiffen instinctively.

I turned, startled, only to meet a gaze that was equal parts amused and unimpressed.

Kai leaned against the kitchen cabinet, his arms casually crossed, his eyes drifting slowly between Zane and me with a look that seemed to grow harder to decipher with each passing second.

“Well,” he drawled, his tone breezy but with a faint edge, “don’t let me interrupt. I was just here for breakfast, but don't let me stop you.”