(Vladford POV)
I woke before the bell.
That alone told me I was finally myself again.
The infirmary was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that came after pain had finished its argument and decided to wait. Pale morning light filtered through the seams of the canvas, painting everything in washed-out gold.
For a moment, I didn't move.
I lay there and counted my breaths.
In.
Out.
The ache was still there—deep, dull, layered—but it no longer felt like something trying to drag me back under. My body had reached an agreement with it.
I sat up slowly.
No one stopped me.
That was new.
The blanket slid from my shoulders, and cool air kissed my skin. Bandages wrapped my torso and arms, tight but clean. I tested my fingers, then my legs, bracing for dizziness.
It didn't come.
Good.
I reached for my shirt and pulled it on carefully, fingers brushing the base of my neck as I fastened the collar.
The mark was there.
I didn't need to look to know that.
