The skylight blazed hot on her face.
She opened her eyes.
Pain. Oh God, she thought. Not again.
She raised up on her elbows and looked around.
She was lying on a butcher block table, pots and implements suspended above her as though dropping randomly from some airborne kitchen.
Tamping down a swelling nausea, she sat up and swung her legs over the edge.
Her head felt like it was split in two, the edges rubbing together.
She felt for her phone.
It was in her pocket, but dead.
Ditto her watch.
A wall clock said 9:20.
But AM or PM?