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ALZAR WASN'T SURE WHERE HE WAS.

The first thing he was aware of was the pounding in his head, a constant, agonizing headache behind his eyes. He cautiously cracked open an eye, finding his bedroom wrapped around him. He was lying in bed, dressed in a fresh set of clothes.

Shakily, he rose up, rubbing his face. The teenage stubble on his face had been shaved, and his hair was damp. He felt clean.

In the corner of the room, Sariel sat in his desk chair, asleep at his desk. On the contrary, Sariel was beyond scruffy, his shirt wrinkled and stained and the lower part of his face cast in a five-o'clock-shadow.

“Sariel?”

Sariel twitched, groggily raising his head. “Are you Al?” he asked, voice weak.

Alzar pulled himself into a sitting position, rubbing the now-healed wounds on his wrists. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Abaddon’s been here for days. I was worried you were never coming back,” Sariel said solemnly, “What do you remember?”

“I was in class, and that's it.”

Sariel stumbled to Alzar’s side, wrapping his arms around him. “I'm just glad you're okay.”

Alzar lapsed into silence. Was he okay? He wasn't sure. He didn't even know how he was feeling. Everything was dull, blank, unfocused. He was miles away from Sariel’s embrace.

Alzar flopped back onto his pillow, drawing his knees to his chest. “I think I just need to get some sleep right now.”

Maybe sleeping would wash away the fog that hung over his head.

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