JAYNAYAH

The first thing I noticed was the silence.

For weeks, my mind had been an echoing chamber of whispers, a cavern where ancient, brittle voices scratched against the walls of my consciousness. They had been a low hum of resentment, rising to a deafening roar during the ordeal in the astral plane. They had been the sound of fire and drowning and centuries of accumulated rage.

Now, there was only the soft, rhythmic sound of breathing beside me and the muffled quiet of snow falling outside the window.

I lay still, terrified that moving might shatter the fragile peace. I listened, straining my mental ears into the corners of...