I hobble toward a large hut at the base of one of the trees. Inside, it’s lit up by a ceiling of dangling lanterns, each a shade of turquoise, gold, and cerulean that cast fantastical shadows along the floor. I smell orange and cinnamon, though I’m not sure how, because aside from two red couches, a coffee table made out of scrap metal, and a strange machine half-hidden in a cupboard, there’s nothing else here.

Lowering me onto one of the couches, Theo pulls his arm away and nods at my leg. “Looks like something new. It knocked her out for a few minutes—maybe some kind of suppressor?”

Yeong flattens his mouth. “Are you sure it’s not a tracker?”

Theo darkens. “I—I don’t think so.” He gathers his confidence, crossing his thick arms over his chest defensively. “Besides, she didn’t take the pill. They can’t track anyone without taking over their mind first.”

Yeong hums, kneeling beside me. “Tell me what it feels like.”

I make a face. “It feels like I’ve been shot in the leg.”

His eyes latch on to mine like they’re coaxing me for details. “Describe it.” When I don’t reply, he adds, “Unless you want to spend the rest of your time here in pain.”

Frowning, I glance down at the wound in my thigh. “It feels hot. Like the skin on top is burning, but underneath is something heavy and jagged. Like… like a rock.” I look up, and Yeong is nodding.

“Perfect. Now I want you to concentrate on that feeling. Isolate it in your mind. Do you have it?”

I want to argue, but Yeong and Theo are looking at me so seriously that I decide it’s better to appease them. So instead, I nod twice and close my eyes, thinking only of the object still buried in my skin.

The more I focus on the pain, the more it intensifies. Searing heat radiates from the open wound all the way to the bone, causing my leg to buckle in response. I inhale sharply.

Yeong speaks again, his voice mellow and warm. “That’s good. Now picture that feeling, that pain, and imagine your physical body is rejecting it. Imagine the shrapnel being pushed out of you and the pain going away. Imagine you are in control and that metal—that rock—it doesn’t belong with you.”

I breathe through my nose. I don’t know how time works here, or how long it’s really been since I died, but pain feels like such a part of me that I can barely remember a time I’ve lived without it. I want my skull to stop throbbing. I want skin that doesn’t hurt. Bones that don’t feel brittle. Muscles that don’t ache with every movement.