The second thing is cold. Biting, sterile cold against my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms.

My eyelids feel like lead weights. I force them open anyway.

Blurry shapes swim above me. White ceiling. Harsh light. The smell of medicine and something metallic—blood, maybe. My blood.

I try to move.

Metal clinks against wood. My wrists won’t budge. Neither will my ankles.

Panic hits me like a wave crashing through my chest. I pull harder, the restraints digging into my skin, my breathing quickening into shallow, ragged gasps.

Why am I tied down?

Where am I?

I search my mind for answers, clawing through the darkness for anything—a name, a face, a place—

Nothing.

Just silence. Empty, echoing silence where my memories should be.

Footsteps. The creak of a door opening. Voices, hushed and sharp.

Then I see him.

A man standing slightly apart from the others. Dark hair cut short. Pale skin. Eyes that cut through me like a blade before he’s even said a word.

He takes a step closer, and the others part for him like water around stone.

But there’s nothing there.