her scent -+- miguel ohara -+- ~~~~Complete

10🕸️ Lingering Scents, Lingering Truths🕸️

Callisto's eyelids fluttered open, a dull ache pulsing in her head. The sterile, white walls of a medical room greeted her, the soft hum of machines filling the air. For a moment, she forgot where she was, the disorientation sinking in as her surroundings slowly began to take shape.

She was lying in a bed, her body strangely numb, the weight of her limbs feeling foreign. The unmistakable scent of antiseptic stung her nostrils. The faint beep of a heart monitor signaled the slow rhythm of her pulse, a reminder that, somehow, she was still alive.

Her mind raced. The last thing she remembered... Carlos. His head exploding. The explosion that rocked her apartment. The heat. The suffocating silence before everything went black.

Am I dead?

She wasn't sure how long she'd been out. Her head throbbed painfully as fragmented memories of the explosion and the chaos filtered back into her consciousness. The faces of strangers. The sound of footsteps. The faint murmur of voices.

As her mind slowly pieced things together, a familiar face came into focus. Miguel O'Hara was standing nearby, his expression unreadable, but his eyes never left her. She blinked, trying to make sense of it all, but the exhaustion weighed heavily on her. Her body felt like it had been through hell, and her mind... her mind was a blur.

"Hey," Miguel's voice broke through the fog. His tone was soft, almost gentle, despite the intensity in his gaze. "You're safe now."

Callisto tried to sit up, but her limbs felt heavy. She winced as the pain in her head intensified. Miguel stepped closer, his hands hovering near her but not touching.

"Don't try to move too much," he cautioned. "You've been unconscious for a while."

Her eyes scanned the room, and the panic started to set in. "What happened?" she asked hoarsely. Her voice sounded raw, as though she hadn't spoken in days.

Miguel let out a quiet sigh, taking a seat beside her bed. "You were in the explosion. We got you out in time, but you've been through a lot. You're lucky to be alive."

Callisto's heart sank as the memories of her apartment—and Carlos—flooded back. Her breath caught in her throat, her chest tightening. She swallowed hard, trying to push the emotions down. She needed to focus.

"Where... where am I?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Miguel paused before responding, his eyes flicking to the window, as if considering his words carefully. "You're in the medbay of my base building. I brought you here after we rescued you."

Callisto's gaze hardened. She could feel the weight of his words. His base building.

She wanted to say something, but her mind felt sluggish, like wading through molasses. Instead, she just nodded, the full reality of her situation sinking in.

Miguel was silent for a long moment before his gaze returned to her, his eyes lingering as if searching for something. "You're lucky to be alive," he repeated quietly.

Time passed.

The days following the explosion felt like a whirlwind. Callisto had stayed at Miguel's apartment to recover, though it felt like a dream. The space was different from her own—sleek, minimalistic, and clean. But it had a certain warmth to it, despite its stark, clinical design. The warmth came from Miguel, though Callisto wasn't sure how to interpret that just yet.

Miguel had been patient with her, never pushing her to talk too much, never prying into her past. She was grateful for that, but there was still a certain tension between them. He was kind—too kind, maybe—and it made her nervous. Every time he looked at her, there was something in his gaze that made her feel exposed, like he was seeing right through her. It made her feel like she should be more careful, more guarded.