Elishia woke slowly.

A low, muffled groan escaped her throat as she tried to shift her head on the pillow. Her body felt like it had been stuffed with bricks—each limb heavy, as if glued to the mattress. She blinked once. Twice. The light stung.

What happened to me? The thought drifted through her mind like smoke, barely formed before dissolving again.

Her ribs protested the movement with a dull, pulsing ache. So did her arm. She winced and gritted her teeth, eyes drifting toward the warm yellow glow of a small lampshade sitting on the bedside table. The light pooled gently across white bedsheets and her bandaged arm.

Bandaged. The word registered slowly, like her brain was operating through thick syrup.

She stared at the lamp for a long time, blankly, until it all returned.

The explosion.

The screaming.

The fire.

The blood.

The auction.

The dark room.

Her throat constricted. The memories crashed over her in waves—not gentle, not kind. They hit like shards of glass, each one cutting deeper than the last.

I should feel something right now.

Panic. Terror. Anger. Anything.

But instead, all she felt was… distant. Like her memories were someone else’s story. Like the feelings that should have come with them were trapped behind a pane of frosted glass.

Am I still groggy? she wondered, grasping for a logical explanation.

That was when the door opened.

A rectangle of light cut through the dim room, making her squint. A tall silhouette stepped inside, and for a moment she couldn’t make out the face—the hallway light behind him was too strong, and her eyes were still struggling to focus.

As he approached, the details came into view.

A plain gray long-sleeved shirt. Loose dark hair falling into his eyes. And then—

Golden eyes.

Thick lashes.

A sharp nose.

And a mouth curling into a familiar, insufferable smirk.

Her mind finally connected the dots.

Mark.

He leaned in closer, face suddenly too big in her vision, those gold magma-flecked eyes examining her like a museum piece.

“Well well,” he said, voice low and teasing, “Sleeping Beauty finally wakes up.”

She didn’t react right away.

No sarcasm. No anger. Not even a scowl.

Just stillness.

Mark blinked, his smirk faltering slightly. He waved a hand slowly in front of her face. “Hello? Anyone in there? Or did we forget to restart your brain?”

Elishia rolled her eyes, sluggishly, and turned her head to look away from him. Her gaze slowly roamed the room. It was quiet. Small. Clean.

Caramel-colored walls, a white-sheeted bed, a wooden drawer, a cabinet, and the same dull yellow lamp still glowing beside her. It didn’t feel like a hospital room.

Am I still inside the clinic?

As if reading her mind, Mark leaned back and casually plopped himself down on a nearby chair.

“Yep. Still in the clinic. This room is the one I usually crash in when I come here,” he said. “Used to be a storage closet before the doc cleaned it out. Not bad, huh?”

She didn’t respond.

Mark tilted his head, studying her with those unsettling golden eyes. “You’ve been out for a whole day, by the way. No food, no water, nothing. I mean…I’m just about to have lunch, so lucky timing, I guess.”

His words filtered into her ears like they were underwater. It took her brain a moment to actually catch up.

Food… Day… Lunch…

A whole day.

She blinked, then slowly turned her eyes back to him.

And without thinking, without calculation—she spoke.

“…Thank you.”

The two words hung in the air like foreign creatures, fragile and unexpected.

Her own voice surprised her. It sounded small, vulnerable.

Mark’s smirk fell away.

His face didn’t react right away—his lips pressed together tightly, jaw twitching slightly like he was trying to decide what expression belonged on his face.

In the end, all that remained was a strange stillness.

He looked at her.

And for once, he didn’t have a joke.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with something she couldn’t name. She felt exposed, like she’d accidentally revealed something she should have kept hidden.

****

Elishia sat at the small kitchen table, staring down at the simple plate in front of her.

A heated canned beef stew, some white bread, and a single banana on the side.

The smell wasn’t exactly inviting—oily, metallic—but it wasn’t terrible either. She just… couldn’t eat right away.

When was the last time someone made me food? The thought caught her off guard. Not ordered it, not bought it for me, but actually prepared it and set it in front of me.

Years, she realized. Maybe not since I was a child.

Her fingers curled lightly around the metal spoon as her mind drifted back.

Back to earlier. Back to the bedroom.

That moment—right after she said it. Thank you.

A strange stillness had crept into the air. Tense. Hollow. Fragile. The kind of stillness that made the hair at the back of her neck stand up.

Mark hadn’t spoken for a few seconds.

It was like watching a mask slip, she remembered. Just for a second, I saw something underneath. Something darker.

And then, his voice finally came. Low. Even. Emotionless.

“…Is that so?”

Those three words didn’t sound like much. But paired with the way the shadows clung to the angles of his face, nearly swallowing the soft lamp light, it felt like something was… off.

Dangerous, even.

She couldn’t quite make out his expression. And just as she tried to refocus—snap—the mask was back.

That damn smirk of his.

Like nothing had happened at all.

He teased her again. Said something about her being “finally house-trained” and that he was proud. Then helped her, with surprising gentleness, out of the room and into the kitchen where he set her down at the table.

“I need to do something,” he said as he grabbed a jacket by the back door. “Eat by yourself. Don’t wait.”

And he was gone.

Running away, she’d thought as the door closed behind him. From what? From me saying thank you?

-Back to Present-

Her stomach growled, pulling her back to the moment.

She looked down again.

The stew had a layer of congealed oil forming at the surface now. She sighed quietly, then picked up the spoon. With slow movements, she scooped some up and brought it to her lips.

It tasted… Salty. Slightly metallic. But edible.

Like survival, she thought with bitter amusement. Everything tastes like survival now.

She chewed. Swallowed. Took another spoon. Then another. Her body—still sore—didn’t protest.

At least it’s warm.

At least I’m alive.

At least…

She stopped that train of thought. Gratitude felt dangerous right now, like it might make her weak when she needed to stay sharp.

Just as she was reaching for the banana, the back door creaked open.

Her head instinctively turned.

She expected Mark.

But instead, it was Dr. Chen.

He was holding grocery bags in both hands, a slight grunt escaping him as he kicked the door shut with his heel.

He looked up and spotted her. “Ah. You’re up.”

She offered a small nod. “Yeah… I guess.”

“Good, good.” He shuffled toward the fridge and began setting the bags down. “How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Nausea?”

“I’m… okay, I think.” She paused, then added quietly, “A little foggy still.”

Dr. Chen nodded knowingly. “That’s normal. Your body went through significant trauma. It’ll take time for everything to settle.” He looked at her plate approvingly. “Good to see you eating. That’s the first step.”

The first step to what? she wondered. Getting better? Moving on? Pretending this never happened?

“Where’s that punk Mark?” he asked, unpacking vegetables.

“He said he needed to do something,” Elishia said, voice soft. “Didn’t say what.”

Dr. Chen clicked his tongue and muttered something under his breath. “Of course he didn’t. Kid’s allergic to details.”

Kid? The word struck her as odd. How old is Mark, anyway? And how long have they known each other?

“Doctor,” she said hesitantly, “can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?” He paused in his unpacking.

“How long have you known Mark?”

Dr. Chen’s hands stilled for a moment. When he looked at her, his expression was carefully neutral. “Long enough,” he said simply. “Why do you ask?”

Because I can’t figure him out. Because he saved me but I don’t know why. Isn’t he supposed to be one of them?

“Just curious,” she said instead.

Dr. Chen studied her for a moment, then returned to his unpacking. “Mark’s… complicated,” he said finally. “But he’s a good man. Whatever else you might think about him, remember that.”

He grabbed one of the bags and disappeared down the hallway, likely heading to his room to change.

Elishia was alone again.

She slowly peeled the banana, eating it absentmindedly, her eyes drifting toward the shut door. The world outside the clinic felt… far away, but not gone.

What’s out there waiting for me?

And now, the dull haze in her mind was starting to lift.

What would happen now?

Was it really over?

Would she be able to go back? Back to her country? Her city? Her old life?

Would they even believe me?

Her professor.

The landlord.

Jennie.

Oh God, Jennie. Guilt crashed over her like a wave. She’s probably terrified. She’s probably called the police, called everyone she knows…

Would anyone report me missing?

The question sat in her stomach like a stone. How long did someone have to be gone before they were considered missing? How long before people started looking?

How long before people stopped looking?

She didn’t know.

And for the first time since waking up, that unknown felt scarier than anything else.

Because what if no one was looking at all?

The banana turned to cardboard in her mouth. She set it down, suddenly unable to swallow.

I can’t think like this, she told herself firmly. I can’t fall apart now. I survived the worst of it. I can survive this too.

But even as she thought it, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the hardest part wasn’t behind her.

It was just beginning.