Consciousness returned in fragments.
First, the cold. It seeped into Matt's bones, a deep, bone-numbing chill that seemed to come from the very air around him. Then the pain—his shoulders screaming, his wrists burning, his body stretched taut and suspended.
He opened his eyes.
He was hanging in midair.
Chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles, spread wide, pulling him in four directions. The metal was cold against his skin, inscribed with symbols that glowed faintly in the darkness. He tried to move, to struggle, but the chains held firm.
Beside him, Yvonne hung in the same position. Her eyes were closed, her face pale, her platinum hair hanging loose around her shoulders. She was breathing—shallow, but steady.
"Yvonne," Matt called. His voice came out hoarse and raw the first time. Then he called again. " Hey Yvonne... Yvonne".
Her eyes fluttered open. She blinked, disoriented, then looked down at her chains, at her suspended body.
