My face felt cold. It was strange, considering the rest of my body was wrapped in warmth, almost too much of it. A heavy weight pressed down on me, the sensation becoming more distinct as I drifted into consciousness. I flexed my fingers, meeting resistance. Something was holding me in place.

Then, the pain hit. It started as a dull throb in my head, but it quickly sharpened, stabbing into the sides of my temples. Each pulse was more violent than the last, and I winced, my breath catching as the ache became unbearable.

"A terrible forest fire has decimated a quarter of the New Gillies mountainside, along with thirty percent of its nature reserves, and two homes on the north side. 

The fire claimed two lives. Evidence suggests the fires were started intentionally..."

The voice—faint, distant—barely registered through the fog in my mind. I groaned, lifting my arm, only to feel every muscle protest, as though they'd been torn apart and pieced back together.

Light shuffling sounded nearby. I tensed, my arm feeling a growing pressure. With a sudden surge of awareness, I opened my eyes.

Blinding white light seared into them, forcing them shut again almost instantly. I blinked, slower this time, letting my vision adjust to the unnatural brightness. Gradually, shapes formed through the haze. My gaze fell on the source of the pressure—a hand. Small, delicate, with pale pink nails gently resting on my arm.

"Oh good, you're awake," said a soft voice.

For a moment, there was silence. But then the realization of where I was, who I was with, and everything that had happened struck me all at once.

A scream tore through my throat, raw and unrelenting. The woman with the pink nails jumped back, her eyes wide with shock as she stumbled away from the bed. 

The door flung open, and people spilled into the room, rushing toward me from the hallway.

Their faces loomed over me, distorted and unfamiliar, moving closer. I screamed again, louder this time, the sound piercing my own ears, making my head throb even harder.

More figures crowded around, their postures cautious but determined, like they were approaching a wild animal. My heart pounded as I shrank back, pressing myself deeper into the bed, trying to escape their relentless advance.

"Stay away!" I shouted, my voice cracking as panic seized my chest. But they didn't stop. They just kept coming.

The room spun, and the pressure in my chest grew until it felt like I might suffocate under it all.

And then, just as suddenly as the fear had taken hold, everything went silent again, my body too weak to resist. My screams died off, leaving only the sound of my ragged breathing and the soft murmurs of those around me.

"Ma'am, please calm down. I'm here to help you."

But I couldn't stop. The screams kept tearing out of me, raw and unrelenting. I didn't even know why I was screaming anymore—just that I was in a strange place, surrounded by strange people, and none of it made sense.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and uncontrollable, mixing with the liquid dripping from my nose. I wasn't just crying; I was unraveling, piece by piece, and I couldn't do anything to stop it.

The group surrounding me suddenly surged forward. In an instant, hands were on me, pinning me down to the bed. A new wave of terror crashed over me, fueling another scream, higher, more frantic than before. It was a primal sound, born out of pure fear.

In the midst of my thrashing, I felt a sharp sting in my arm. Almost immediately, an unfamiliar calm washed over me, dulling the panic, softening my senses. I could feel my body relaxing against the bed, the fight draining out of me, leaving me limp.

The hands that had restrained me let go, and I collapsed back onto the mattress. My chest rose and fell rapidly, but the energy to move, to scream, had vanished.

I stared blankly at the light above me, its brightness searing into my tired eyes. Dust clung to the edges of the fixture, the tiny particles shimmering in the harsh glow. I watched them float, my mind foggy, as the sounds around me blurred into a distant hum.

I couldn't tell how many people were still in the room, but I knew there were fewer than before. The air felt quieter, less oppressive, though I still sensed someone nearby.

A man's head appeared in my line of sight, blocking the light. The way it cast a halo around him made him look almost ethereal, like some sort of strange angel. 

He leaned closer, his face partially shadowed as he examined me. One hand came up, holding a small flashlight, and with the other, he used his thumb to pull my eyelid wide, shining the light directly into my eye.

I flinched, weakly batting his hand away, the last remnants of my strength barely making contact.

"Well now," he murmured, his tone oddly amused, "I'm surprised you're still conscious. That dose usually puts most people right out."

Sleep tugged at me, heavy and insistent. It would have been so easy to give in, to let the darkness take me. But I was stubborn. I couldn't let myself fall asleep, not here, not with these people I didn't know.

The man continued to do something—what, I couldn't recall. My mind was slipping, each thought coming slower than the last. But I fought to stay awake, forcing myself to stay present in this strange place, even though everything in me wanted to surrender.

My mind was shrouded in a fog, struggling against the drug they had given me. Time lost meaning. People filtered in and out, their faces blurring together as they checked on me, did things I couldn't remember, or spoke words I didn't fully grasp. The fog clung to me for what felt like hours.

Eventually, the medicine wore off. I felt it leave my system, but I stayed silent, unmoving, pretending to be more affected than I was. I didn't want them to sedate me again. Sleep tugged at me, but I resisted. I didn't want to fall unconscious among strangers.

As much as I tried to stay alert, I opened my eyes to find it was morning. My body had betrayed me, surrendering to the need for rest. The room was quiet, save for the soft beeps of machines I couldn't name. The walls felt close, too close, like they might press in on me if I wasn't careful.

I didn't speak. The nurses who came in tried to coax me into conversation. Their words fell on deaf ears. 

I couldn't think of what to say, and even if I could, my voice felt trapped in my throat, locked away by the unfamiliarity of it all. I didn't know these people, didn't trust them. Their kindness, their soft voices, meant nothing. I knew how dangerous the world could be, how unpredictable.

I sat, stiff and silent, refusing to engage, waiting for them to stop trying. It was easier to fade into the background, to be ignored. But my stillness didn't stop the churning inside. Anxiety curled tighter in my chest with every minute, a knot that grew with every nurse who came in.

Just past noon, a man entered the room. He was different. His clothes were tailored, sharp, unlike the loose scrubs everyone else wore.

He didn't smile or offer a greeting like the others. His face was blank, unreadable. My hands clenched the blanket tighter as he dragged a chair to the center of the room.

He sat down, his movements deliberate, but he didn't speak right away. The silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable.

I glanced at him through my lashes, heart racing, not knowing what he wanted.

"First, how old are you?"

I can already tell this conversation is going to be tough. The questions he's likely to ask are ones I can't fully answer.

I shrugged. His eyebrows knitted together, and suspicion crept into his gaze.

"You don't know your age?"

I shook my head. He clicked his tongue, jotting something down on his notepad before looking back at me.

"Your name."

That wasn't even a question. I shook my head again. He leaned back in his chair, a smirk creeping onto his face, mixed with annoyance.

"Listen, girl, this is a small town, and I'm the only one who handles major investigations. I don't have time for your stubbornness. So, I'll ask one more time: what's your name?"

His words stung more than I expected. I wanted to shake my head again, but I knew that would only fuel his anger.

I had no choice but to speak. Taking a deep breath, I tried to find the words.

"I... I don't remember my name. It's been a long time."

I felt a surge of pride as I stuttered toward the end. That was the longest I'd spoken to anyone in a while—even if that someone was a grumpy man.

His frown deepened, clearly taken aback by my response.

"What do you mean, 'it's been a long time'?"

My mouth opened and closed as I struggled to convey something as long and complicated as my life.

It was a strange blend of memories and emotions so tangled those selective recollections felt unreliable. A puzzle with millions of pieces scattered everywhere.

"I don't know. I've been there since I was little."

"You've been where? The woods?"

I nodded.

He leaned in closer, fingers interlaced as he scrutinized me, likely searching for signs of deceit. Whatever he found seemed to satisfy him because he pressed on with more questions.

"You said you were little, right? When you first got there. How did you get there?"

I sighed and shook my head.

"You don't remember."

He echoed my unspoken response. The conversation continued like this for about half an hour. As he checked his watch, I could see the gears turning in his mind, a mix of frustration and resignation etched on his face. He stood up, the chair scraping against the floor, and gathered his notes with a determined shake of his head.

"Well, I have to go now," he said as one of the nurses glared from the doorway.

"We'll talk more later."

With that, he turned and left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me enveloped in silence once again. It was dark outside, and I found comfort in the solitude, just the way I liked it.

Suddenly, the door to my room opened, revealing a nervous-looking nurse standing in the doorway.

"You have a visitor."