The fluorescent hum of the nurse's office was the first thing Genevieve registered, a stark contrast to the oppressive darkness that had swallowed her moments before. A dull throb pulsed behind her eyes, echoing the pressure that had pressed down on her shoulders. Alyssa and Oliver were there, their faces etched with a concern that seemed too deep for a simple faint.

"What happened?" Genevieve mumbled, her voice raspy, pushing herself up on the cot. The nurse, a stern-faced woman in crisp white, busied herself with charts, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrent of tension.

"You fell," Alyssa said, her voice tight, "and you kept saying 'what' over and over again. Then you kind of passed out."

Genevieve's mind reeled, flashes of the dark room, the inexplicable pressure, and that soft, insistent voice—a voice that had whispered, 'Need you to fight this, Genevieve.' A voice she knew, yet had never heard. It was still there, a faint echo in her mind, urging her.

"Not in front of the nurse," it seemed to say now. "Tell Alyssa and Oliver when you are alone."

Oliver shifted in the chair beside the bed, his gaze locked on her. "Are you okay?"

"Sorry, I'm still dizzy," Genevieve replied, meeting Alyssa's eyes, a silent question passing between them. "Think I want to lay down for a little bit."

"Whatever will help," the nurse stated, walking away and closing the door behind her. The click resonated in the sudden quiet.

"They have the answers," the voice insisted, clearer now. "Now, what's going on?" Alyssa demanded, leaning closer. The air crackled with unspoken urgency.