The harder I fought, the more tangled I became.
And all I could see above me was dark eyes and a scowling expression full of anger.
There weremoments when I thought I was waking up. I could feel the edge of it—the soft weight of a blanket, the faint pressure of something warm pressed against me. For a breath or two, the pain faded, and I floated. I didn’t want to move. I couldn’t.
But then the cloud shifted.
A harsh realization cracked through the fog. I had to move. I had to get away. That instinct hit hard—loud, panicked, blaring like a siren in the back of my head.
I tried to move. Itried. My body jerked, or I thought it did, but my hand… my hand wouldn’t move.
Why wouldn’t it move?
A thick bolt of fear ripped through me as I tugged harder—and felt the resistance. My hand was stuck. Restrained. Bound to something I couldn’t see. Why? Why was it stuck?
Was he here?
Had the latest contract been a success? Had they taken the contract and handed me over?
I needed more time.
I twisted harder, pulse thudding in my ears. I needed to move. I needed to fight. I needed?—
Then it shifted.
The cloud vanished, and I plummeted into thedark, back into the blood and the cold and the weight on my chest. I dreamed again—no, not dreams. Nightmares of silver monsters chasing me, always one step behind. I ran through Montana, through smoke and flame, Button screaming somewhere in the dark.
Voices called my name. Over and over. Louder. Closer. Some I recognized. Some I didn’t.
And I couldn’t tell anymore what was real and what wasn’t.
Until everything stilled.
No running. No wolves. No fire. Just a soft sound. Breathing. Slow. Measured. Not mine.
A pressure tugged at the fog in my head, as though someone was peeling back the layers one by one. My body ached, heavy and raw, but the pain was distant this time—not gone, but softened, dulled around the edges.
I blinked.
The light hurt. Not sunlight. Bulbs. Overhead. Harsh. My hand was still fastened to something, and the other hand was painful and linked to a long wire or something.
I blinked again, and something came into view. A ceiling I didn’t recognize. Faint shadows moving. The scrape of a chair. Leather.
“About time you woke up,” someone said. A low voice. Not unkind. Not familiar either.
I tried to turn my head, but everything felt slow, as if I were swimming through glue.
Then, someone leaned into my line of sight. The same dark eyes as in my dream. Was he real? I blinked up at him. He’d held me—pressed me up against the wall—and I’d fought to get free. I’d kicked, twisted, shoved with everything I had in me, but it hadn’t been enough. He was big. Strong. I couldn’t move him off me, no matter how hard I struggled. And yet, every desperate, hopeless attempt still clawed its way out of me. I’d fought him, and he’d held on anyway… hurt me… dropped me…
Fuck. I remembered where I was.
I’d tracked down DaemonRaze using tech I’d nearly forgotten, after following a trail of old handles and encrypted whispers until I hit something I wasn’t supposed to find. DaemonRaze was attached to deep web queries filled with names I recognized. Names I feared.
He’d been a good guy, right? But now? Lying here, trapped in someone else’s bed, that certainty was gone. Where was he? Had he brought me here to save me? Or was he calling Kessler right now,handing over coordinates with a quiet voice and blood money in his pocket?
Panic surged.
How long did I have?
