Cold. Hard. The smell of dust and old wood. A dull ache behind your skull, like someone had stuffed it with cotton and then set it on fire.

You were on the floor. Somewhere. A basement, maybe — the light was thin, gray, filtering through a grimy window high up on the wall. Shadows pooled in the corners, thick and unmoving.

There was a metal chair a few feet away. Empty.

And then, a voice. Calm. Almost pleasant.