Chapter 15. The Ripple

The morning light filtered in like a caress, painting the walls in soft gold and silence. Alyssa woke slowly, cocooned in the gentle warmth of freshly laundered sheets. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she lay for a long moment without moving—a sweet interlude in which she was neither prisoner to pain nor captive of confusion, just wholly present. The fever that had scorched her skin and warped her thoughts into dark tangles was gone; her head felt clear, her limbs at ease. She closed her eyes again, savoring the simple perfection of well-being.

A breeze drifted through the slightly ajar glass doors leading to the balcony, carrying with it the scent of sunbaked salt and seaweed. Far below, the ocean heaved and sighed, its surface a shifting tapestry of blues and silvers. The rhythm of the waves pulsed in time with her breath, a living lullaby she could taste on her tongue. She sat up, pushing the covers back, and padded across cool hardwood floors to the threshold. The balustra