Stone. Cold stone beneath your cheek. Torchlight flickering through your lashes. Aches splintering through your skull like glass.

Above you, a ring of faces. Blurry. Blonde. Brown. Dark curls. Pale skin, sharp jawlines. They're all staring down at you. A boy with a cigarette burn on his shirt crouches closer.

Nothing makes sense. The name he says is yours. You know that. But his voice—strange. The way he called you sweetheart. The way they're all breathing too fast. Like they're scared of you.