The hood was plucked from Damien’s head. Light flooded in, bringing with it a searing ache behind his eyes and an unsettling dread of what might come next.
‘No depressions in the skull, maybe a mild concussion,’ someone said behind him.
Damien was sitting upright in a chair, his hands plasticuffed to the back and ankles to the chair legs. His watch, his pouch of items, his wallet, belt and even his shoes had been removed. They were thorough, he’d give them that. But he still had his slender sachet of emergency items hidden inside his jeans. He catalogued his injuries. His head felt like it had gone ten rounds with an ice rink, he had a loose tooth on his right side, and a searing pain in his left thigh. He looked down to see it bandaged and blotted red.
A young woman with a mane of blaz
