Zendaya's POV
Pain. That was the first thing I felt—dull, aching, and throbbing, threaded through my every ribs like fire beneath ice. The second thing was the overwhelming quietness. A stillness that pressed down on my chest, thick and unrelenting. I tried to breathe, but even that felt like work. My lashes fluttered open to blinding white—walls, ceiling, linens. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled my nose, and a bitter taste clung to the back of my throat.
Where am I?
Then it hit me—like a slap across the face.
The arena. The matches. The chaos. And vanessa almost strangling me to death. The match I didn't want to lose enduring till the end.
Pain bloomed anew in my chest as I remembered the searing grip around me, the crowd's gasps, the blood. My blood.
