A loud thud jolted Florian awake.
His breath caught in his throat as his eyes snapped open. For a moment, everything was wrong—the air too heavy, shadows too deep, suffocating the room. His heart raced, pounding so hard it felt like it would break through his ribs.
'Shit—did they find me? Am I back there?'
His instincts took over. In a heartbeat, he bolted upright, muscles taut and ready to fight—or flee. The panic was razor-sharp, lancing through his body as his gaze darted around the room, searching for threats.
And then he saw it.
A small, crumpled figure on the floor beside his bed.
Cashew.
The boy was sprawled awkwardly, fingers tangled in the sheets as if he'd tried to climb onto the bed and failed. His thin shoulders trembled, messy hair sticking to his damp forehead. Even in the dim light, Florian could see the way Cashew's tiny hands clenched against the fabric in frustration.
