Lyra stirred beneath stiff sheets, her throat raw, lips cracked, limbs aching as though she’d been dragged through fire and ice all at once.

The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the air. Her eyelids fluttered open, heavy and dry, only to be blinded by the harsh light in the room.

She tried to sit up but quickly gave up the idea as pain shot through her torso like knives, forcing her to fall back with a sharp gasp.

Her arms trembled, bruised with the red marks on her porcelain white ...