I didn’t wake up breathing.

  I woke up aware.

  Like someone dropped a soul into a cup too small and just said, “Figure it out.”

  The last thing I remember was the kid.

  The screech of steel.

  Then cold.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Then… nothing.

  No time. No sound. Just a drift.

  The afterlife wasn’t a tunnel or a light.

  It was like floating through molasses made of memory.

  Old thoughts. Half-faces. A warmth that almost felt like peace.

  And then something pulled.

  Not gently.

  Like my whole being got snagged on a hook and yanked sideways.

  The peace cracked.

  I felt pressure in my chest. Not pain, not air—just pressure.

  Like I was being poured into a mold that wasn’t shaped for me.

  Then I opened my eyes.

  Not mine.

  New ones.

  The light was green. Everything was green.

  Even the shadows had vines in them.

  I tried to sit up.

  Muscles moved wrong. Limbs too short. Skin too smooth.

  I touched my face and didn’t recognize the shape of it.

  That’s when the jungle spoke.

  Not in words—just… awareness.

  I wasn’t alone.

  And the body I woke up in?

  It felt like it had history.