Adrian POV
A strong sense of wrongness overwhelmed me. I am not in pain—pain would be honest. This is distortion, a pressure behind my eyes like the world is being folded incorrectly, creased where it should flow.
I try to breathe, but my throat feels clogged. It's been a while. I have been stuck here, with all my strength, I have tried to break my bound wrists and ankles, but I have been restricted by something my current strength cannot force. The skin around where I am bound had been scraped raw, but I cannot be bothered by the little pain.
Psychic anchors hum beneath my skin, a low vibration that interferes with thought itself. Every attempt to gather power slides off them, dissipates, leaves me weaker than before.
A laugh echoes.
Soft and pleased.
"Easy," Tiffany says. "You keep tearing yourself apart like that."
I open my eyes.
The glass chamber is still, light spills from no visible source, washing the walls in pale gold. It feels curated, designed to look safe.
