Chapter 259

Aurora's Perspective Darkness. A thick, viscous dark, cloying with a chemical sweetness. My head felt like it had been stuffed into a rusty blender—a dull, throbbing ache radiating from the base of my skull, a persistent buzzing filling the void. Consciousness was a weight, dragging me down into murky water, something pulling me deeper just as I tried to surface. Groggy. Muffled sounds, as if through layers of heavy blankets. The steady beep of machinery? And… voices? I fought to open my eyes. My eyelids were slabs of lead. Light—harsh, blinding white—needled into the sliver of vision I managed. A shape moved into view. Lab coat. Glasses. Eric Milton. That bastard. That lying, treacherous son of a bitch. His face loomed close. I could smell him—the sharp tang of disinfectant, stale Americano, and beneath it, the nauseating, sweaty scent of a fanatic's excitement. He was smiling. It chilled me to the bone, every pore screaming *danger*. It wasn'