Slowly, Oryen drifted back toward consciousness.
At first, it was nothing but fragments—distant sounds, faint and disjointed. Hushed voices murmured somewhere nearby, their words blurred together like a half-remembered dream. Beneath it, she could hear the soft, steady flow of water, faint but constant. The scent reached her next—thick and unpleasant. Hay… damp wood… and the unmistakable stench of cow manure.
A barn.
Pain throbbed at the back of her head, sharp and pulsing, making it difficult to think. Her vision remained swallowed in darkness, and for a moment, she didn't dare move. Her breathing stayed slow, shallow—instinct urging her to remain unnoticed.
"…what should we do now that we have her?" Minister Andrew's voice cut through the haze.
"I—I'm not sure," another voice replied—tense, uneven. "Harloy would know what to do. It was his idea!"
Oryen remained still, her senses straining.
