From Animus

After wreaking utter destruction while possessed and unable to recall any of it, Rina’s life is spinning out of control. She’s unraveled all the progress she’s fought tooth and nail for at the academy. Even worse, she’s broken a promise to one brother and lost her connection to the other—are either still alive?

She’d give anything to find them.

As a ward of the Kingdom of Shamar, and the sole suspect of a grave atrocity, Rina must embrace her inner warrior and fight for herself.
With the help of some new friends Rina might be able to achieve all she has hoped for, but at what cost?

To prove her innocence, to save herself and those she cares about, she will have to remember being someone else, she’ll have to face the monster she became; but in the end will becoming that person reverse her wrongful conviction or condemn her further?

Waking up was like drinking ice water: The shooting pain in one’s molars at the first splash of the frigid liquid. The way it seizes up one’s back as it slides down into the stomach.
That was what it was like when I came to. Moving was impossible, my limbs were like lead on the bed.
My eyes focused on the worn stone walls that arched overhead. The room was long and narrow. Cots lined the floor, filled with silent bodies, wrapped and wired up to medical equipment. I blinked slowly, confused. This wasn’t the hospital.
My eyes flitted over the King’s Crest, the winged beast carved into the stone, and my body relaxed. The words “safe zone” were etched beneath the symbol of the dangerous winged beast. I was in one of the many bunkers dubbed “safe zones” littered around the city. They’d been built to be used as a last resort should the city prove no longer safe.
The narrow tunnel was lit by small lanterns along the wall, casting a warm golden light into the dark space. I tried to sit up, to remove the tubes in my nose, the mask on my face. I wanted to ask why I was there, to understand the burning in my chest every time I took a breath. But there was no one to ask, and along with my body being unresponsive, so was my voice.
I woke two more times like this. The bodies in the cots around me changed—the only indication of time passing.
* * *
The wailing woke me. The cry was muffled, like listening from deep underwater. My head lolled in the direction of the sound; distant as it was, it sounded familiar. The wail came again—my father ran toward me, his face stricken, hands reaching out to me. He fell to his knees at the side of my bed.
The way he ran to me reminded me of another time he had run to my bedside. The tears, his scrunched face, the way he called my name, again and again, his hands fluttering over my body as if he wasn’t sure where to touch, were just like how he'd come home that day. The day my mother died. He had held me in his arms that day too, after he’d finally settled on touching me. That day his arms had been comforting, but now his touch was haunting. I couldn’t place why but his touch left me trembling.
“Her fever is breaking.” A voice spoke, and at the words my father’s form rippled. Like an image in still water washed away at the slightest touch, he was gone, as if he had never been at my bedside to begin with.
I blinked rapidly, confused as the scene changed before my eyes. Where my father had been, a doctor hovered over me. He wore a white coat with a black pen tucked into the breast pocket. My eyes focused on the pen as my mind struggled to catch up to the present moment. It took a while for the doctor to remove the tubes and wires from my face and hands, but once they were gone he helped me sit up.
“There we go,” he encouraged as he pressed a needle into my upper arm. I winced, a familiar feeling bubbling up within me, but like an unpleasant memory I immediately shoved the emotion away.
The shot made my mind fuzzy, but I could see the room better now. It was much bigger than I’d originally thought, and I could tell, from the king’s insignia on the walls, that we were in the bunker on the base outside the city. The base that had been attacked at the front line.
“Where is my father?” I asked, my voice a whisper. A nurse appeared next to the doctor and they shared a knowing look. The nurse shook her head sadly. “Where?” I croaked again, my eyes searching the room to see where he had gone.
“Rina,” the doctor said, his voice surprisingly gentle, “your father is dead.”
I stopped looking around and turned my face towards the doctor, my hands fisting the green blanket over my body. No. It wasn’t possible. My eyes had already begun to fill with tears, taking the room out of focus and into a distorted nightmare of shapes and colors.