My nose reported next, and it flooded my flummoxed brain with joy. The otherwise stale air held a familiar fresh, floral scent that never failed to warm my heart and lift my mood. Katya’s shampoo.

As I shifted my position to reach for her head, my kinesthetic awareness kicked in. I was resting in a three-quarter prone position, with my legs bent and interlocked and my head braced by both arms. It was close to a standard sleeping posture, but a bit too awkward and precise to be casual. The alignment even had a name.

Recovery position was used by medical professionals and knowledgeable laymen to prevent unconscious people from choking due to a closed or obstructed airway. The ensuing conclusion was inescapable. Like a piece of furniture, I had been arranged.

I reached slowly toward the scent, at once eager and hesitant, longing yet fearful of what I might find. I felt nothing. Nothing but thin air, rising adrenaline and a dropping stomach.

Propping myself up on an elbow, I became aware that I was lying on a floor rather than a mattress. A hardwood floor. I added that fact to the astounding array of puzzle pieces I’d been sorting in the seconds since first opening my eyes.

I extended my hand further toward the sweet scent and found my reward a few inches later. Silky soft strands with a slight curl.

I slid closer.

Her body was warm, her chest rising, her heart beating. She, too, had been situated in the recovery position.

I’m not sure why we strive to be quiet in silent situations. Probably residual programming, written in the lizard brain to keep us safe at night. In any case, I found myself compelled to whisper directly into her ear. “Katya. Katya, wake up.”

There is, perhaps, no more contented feeling than lying beside the woman you love and burying your nose in her hair. Despite the extreme and alarming circumstances, now that I knew my love was safe by my side, that simple act put me at peace.

I had no idea where we were.

I had no idea how we’d gotten there.

But by her side was where I wanted to be. The rest was reduced to the status of details. For the moment at least.

As I whispered, I became aware of something tucked into my cheek. Something small, circular and metallic. I carefully expelled it into my hand and instantly identified the familiar object. I’d studied it often in the preceding weeks, with a smile on my face and a swelling in my chest.

It was Katya’s engagement ring. Or at least, it was going to be. I hadn’t actually given it to her. Hadn’t quite proposed. At least, I didn’t think I had.

The last thing I remembered from before waking up in the black was reaching for that ring. That overpriced piece of metal and stone that would symbolize our union—if she agreed to make me the luckiest man alive.

I’d put my hand into my pocket while preparing to drop to one knee—and found it missing. Panic had shocked me like a Taser strike, a horrible, all-consuming visceral pain and then … nothing. My memory ended there like a cut comic strip.

Somehow in the span since that unfortunate event, we had ended up in the deathly darkness that now enveloped us, and rather than onto her finger, the ring had found its way into my mouth.