My skull feels like it’s splitting in two, every throb of pain echoing like a war drum. My body aches from head to toe, muscles screaming as if I’ve been torn apart and stitched back together wrong. For a moment I convince myself it’s just bad sleep, that I curled up in some strange position.
But the memories creep back. Flashes of blood. Kane’s smirk. That voice—his voice.
And then I realize I’m not lying down at all.
My eyes snap open. Reality slams into me like a blade to the chest. Chains bite into my wrists and ankles, stretching me taut against the cold concrete wall. My arms are pulled wide, muscles burning, shoulders grinding in their sockets. My legs are spread and shackled, the metal biting so tight I can’t even shift my weight.
Terror sinks its claws into me.
“Ah,” the Mast
