{GIANNA}
I jolt upright on the bed, heart jackknifing as my eyes dart around the room. My brows pull together in confusion when I realize
where I am—I'm back in my bedroom at Michael's house. What the actual hell? Was all that just some sick, fever dream, after all?
I turn my head towards the door too quickly, and a sharp, searing pain shoots through my neck. Wincing, I reach up, my fingertips grazing the telltale pinprick marks on my flesh where Aunt Marie had jabbed the needle and pumped me full of God knows what.
It's not a dream.
A second wave of pain crashes through my skull, a migraine already making itself at home. I groan, pressing my palm against my temple, trying to quell the hammering pain while swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. But as I do, my gaze collides with cold, unblinking eyes, and my heart launches itself into my throat.
"Michael!" I blow out a breath, relief rushing through me—until I take in his body language.
