The static had cleared.
Selene woke not to the violent, buzzing heat of the silver-fever, but to a profound, bone-deep ache that felt remarkably like reality. The pitch-blackness of the cistern cell was still absolute, but her mind was no longer a burning house. Her thoughts were cool, orderly, and precisely aligned, like vanguard soldiers waiting for a command.
She shifted her weight on the narrow stone ledge, her breath catching as her fractured ribs gave a familiar, dull throb. But it was manageable. The agonizing spike that had threatened to puncture her lungs with every movement had subsided into a stiff, predictable pain.
Slowly, she lifted her hands. The heavy iron links of the shackles clinked softly, a muted sound in the damp cavern. She rotated her wrists within the silver-fle
