The walk left me utterly drained. By the time I collapsed onto my bed, my chest was heaving as I struggled to catch my breath. Every muscle in my body ached, screaming in protest at the unaccustomed exertion. I wasn't sure if I wanted to cry from frustration or laugh at the absurdity of being reduced to this—barely able to walk without feeling like I had just fought a war.
Sabastine had left a pitcher of water on the small table by the bed, and I reached for it with trembling hands. The cool glass of the cup pressed against my fingers as I poured the water, watching the liquid slosh gently before settling. Lifting it to my lips, I took a slow sip, the icy sensation soothing my parched throat. Another sip followed, then another, the tension in my body gradually unwinding with each cool drop.
