"Ivy! I'm talking to you. Zoning out again?"A voice--familiar, cold, sharp enough to grind against her teeth.Ivy's eyes flew open. Light hit her like something solid, her pupils snapping shut against it, the world around her breaking apart into fragments--warm orange light, the low hum of voices, a man's mouth opening and closing, the words not yet reaching her.Where was she? Was she dead? Was this hell, or something else entirely?Then she felt it. Her hands moved on their own, searching for something to steady herself, and found instead the round, taut curve of her own stomach.She went rigid. Beneath her palm, something was beating--faint, rhythmic, unmistakably alive.She took in the room around her. Warm orange light. The beige couch she'd slept on a hundred times. The family photo on the wall. All of it told her the same thing: this was her home. Her living room. The place she'd just been thrown out of.And there, in front of her, was a face twisted with irritation, lips still
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