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Slow.
Heavy.
Dragging me back to the surface like I’m being pulled through water.
I don’t move.
Don’t open my eyes.
Don’t breathe differently.
Because the first rule?
Never wake up blind.
Voices.
Distant.
Muted.
“…dosage was enough—”
“…she’s tougher than expected—”
“…Ford wants her conscious.”
Of course he does.
My fingers twitch slightlyagainst the surface beneath me.
Cold.
Metal.
Wrists restrained.
Ankles too.
I test the tension.
Not enough to break.
Not yet.
My head pounds.
Vision flickering behind closed eyes.
Drug.
Fast-acting.
Still in my system.
Good.
That means they rushed.
