When Daphne woke up, she expected the familiar softness of her blankets and the faint hum of her alarm clock. Instead, cold metal pressed against her wrists and ankles. Her eyes blinked open to dim, flickering light above her—too harsh, too sterile. It took her a few seconds to realize... she wasn’t in her room at all. The smell of antiseptic burned her nose, clashing oddly with something homier, like coffee and lavender soap.

Her gaze darted around. The place looked like someone had mashed a laboratory and a living room together—beakers and medical tools lined the counter beside a neatly stacked pile of novels and a vase of wilting daisies.