Azaria 'Ziya' Point of View
The next morning, I awoke to the sound of high-pitched, angry voices outside my door. I blinked groggily, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. For a moment, I was disoriented, unsure of where I was. The events of the past few days had blurred together, a whirlwind of violence, fear, and hope. But as I became more alert, I recognized the muffled shouting as that of children.
I reached out instinctively, my hand brushing over the empty side of the bed where Khali should have been. My heart skipped a beat, anxiety clawing at my chest until I remembered she had gotten up early to start the preparations for our departure. I sighed, relieved, but the voices outside my door were growing louder, more insistent.
Throwing on my robe over my pajamas, I hurried to the door and swung it open, the cool air of the hallway hitting me like a slap in the face.
