In a dark room, a raspy voice pierced the silence, her eyes still closed, breathing long and heavy. "Water…" she whispered, the sound fragile and faint. Zeya slowly tried to open her eyes, her hand reaching instinctively for the table, searching for the familiar glass. Instead, her fingers brushed against someone's leg, sending a jolt of confusion through her.
She blinked and turned her gaze toward the figure in the shadows. It was Amaya, sitting in a chair beside her bed, her eyes shut tight, leaning back with her arms crossed over her chest. Dressed in a thin black shirt and formal black pants, she seemed both familiar and distant. Zeya hesitated, her heart racing, as she reached out a finger to touch Amaya, caught in a haze of uncertainty between dreams and reality.
