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Chapter 4: First Steps in Millhaven
Consciousness comes back with the smell of pine wood, clean linen, and woodsmoke. Before I even open my eyes, I know I’m not floating in Azazel’s golden mist anymore—and I’m definitely not lying on cold asphalt behind Mickey’s Diner. Real gravity presses me down into a deep mattress that sags beneath my weight, and bare calves and feet hang clear off the end of a wooden bed frame.
I draw in a slow breath and blink my eyes open to rough-hewn ceiling beams only a few feet above my face. Even lying flat on my back, I can feel a heavy, unfamiliar weight rising and falling on my chest with every breath, straining against the woven linen of a nightgown.
Before I can even lift my head to look down at myself, a soft golden chime echoes behind my forehead—warm and unmistakable, like Azazel’s hand resting briefly against my brow.
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