What had happened? Whose body did he inhabit now? He struggled to remember, but the pounding in his skull kept the thoughts from coalescing. Throat parched, he couldn’t even groan, the sound coming out as more of a wheeze. Turning was sheer agony, one of his ribs screaming so loudly that he felt sure it had been broken. The pain and effort were worth it, though, when he realized who lay next to him. “Sela,” he whispered, reaching out a shaking hand to brush her hair out of her eyes. Though his vision left much to be desired in the gloom, she didn’t appear to be damaged, at least not to the extent he had been, but his focus was so blurry, he didn’t trust it. She was asleep, her chest rising and falling with even, silent breaths, and it finally dawned on him what had happened. Whose body he resided in this time. His own. “Sarge, we got a live one in eight.” The crusty voice came from the lit area at the edge of his field of view, and by the time Rhys managed to move his head in that direction, a white cloud of noxious fumes filled the tiny room.
