𝗔𝗣𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗢𝗦𝗜𝗦 ( tmr minho )

1.02 epigoni ✓

"Cassandra, is that you? Wake up!"

     AN INHUMAN scream split the air and Cassandra bolted upright in a blind fright. Her heart hammered against her ribs, every nerve pulled taut. She couldn't see. Darkness pressed in from all sides, thick and suffocating. Her breaths came too fast, shallow and ragged, panic clawing through her chest. Then fingers clamped around her wrist. She screamed, twisting against the grip, her voice breaking as she fought to pull free.

"Hey, easy! Easy!"

The words cut through the haze, familiar even in her fear. She blinked wildly, her vision adjusting until she found him—Newt, crouched close, his face pale in the dim light, his brown eyes searching hers. Relief bled into her chest. Her muscles loosened, though tremors still rippled through her arms.

Newt's grip eased. He released her slowly, as if half-expecting her to lash out again, and gave her a moment to steady herself. Shapes began to surface in the gloom—the outline of rough walls, the faint suggestion of a ceiling above. There were no windows. Just wooden planks on every side. The room felt too small, too close, like the air itself was pressing down on her.

"You alright?" he asked her.

"What was that sound?" she whispered.

"We'll talk about it later," he said, tone elusive.

She blinked at him, still trying to separate nightmare from reality. The scream still echoed faintly in her skull, but the trembling in her hands had dulled. Her body, sluggish and heavy, reminded her that she was very much alive—and starving.

"You've been unconscious for two days," Newt added. "Clint's been feeding ya soup and all that rubbish, but you need a proper meal."

At the mention of food, her stomach growled in protest, loud enough to answer for her. She didn't bother to argue and simply nodded. The corner of Newt's mouth tugged upward at her reaction before he stood and motioned for her to follow. Cassandra pushed herself up, her limbs stiff and aching, and fell into step behind him.

They walked through a narrow corridor in silence, their footsteps the only sound echoing off the walls. Newt guided her down a flight of creaky stairs before holding open the front door. Pale light spilled in. From the brightness, she guessed it was mid-afternoon, though the sky gave nothing away—blank and sunless, an empty stretch of blue. The world outside felt too calm, unnervingly still compared to the chaos churning in her head.

They crossed the yard to a shack next door. The moment she stepped inside, the warm scent of grease and food enveloped her. She breathed in deeply and knew she had found the right place.

"Well, look who just woke up," a boy behind the counter greeted, grinning at her with a teasing smile. "Good to see you back in the land of the living. Can't have you dying on us on day one."

Cassandra opened her mouth but no words came, the silence stretching awkwardly. Newt chuckled, amused. "She might, if you don't give her some food, Fry."

The cook—Frypan—shot her a quick wink before setting a hot plate of steak and mashed potatoes in front of her. Newt carried it outside, and they sat together at a weathered bench. Cassandra tore into the meal like a starving animal, barely pausing for breath, even finding the water delicious. When she finally glanced up, she caught Newt watching her with a raised brow.