Vincent came awake slowly, like consciousness was a reluctant animal being dragged back into a world it didn't want.
At first, there was only grey—a heavy, suffocating fog—and then pain bloomed in his skull, a deep throbbing behind his eyes like someone had cracked open his head and poured sand inside.
His breath stuttered.
His eyelids fluttered.
Memory came back in jagged flashes:
Ethan's gloved hand.
The sharp chemical sweetness.
A voice, calm, merciless—
"Shh. Night-night."
Then darkness.
Now there was only cold. Coldness of the metal. Steel.
Cold metal biting into his wrists.
Cold concrete beneath his bare feet.
Cold air scraping down his throat like knives every time he inhaled.
He tried to move and something tore at his skin.
An Rope.
Thick, coarse, unyielding rope twisted around his wrists, behind the metal chair back. His ankles were bound to the chair legs, skin pinched beneath tight loops.
His pulse jumped.
His vision sharpened.
Steel walls.
Bare.
