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I jolt awake, the dream shattering around me, only to be plunged into a reality that’s so much worse. Pain hits me like a tidal wave. My head feels like it’s been cleaved in two, a sickening, pulsing throb emanating from behind my right ear. Even the dim light of wherever I am sends spikes of agony lancing through my skull, stabbing at my eyes.

Nausea surges up my throat, hot and acrid. Concussion, some distant, clinical part of my brain supplies. Blunt force trauma. The diagnosis would be almost laughable in its uselessness, if the situation wasn’t so terrifyingly far from funny.

I try to move, but I can’t. I look down and gasp in horror. My wrists and ankles are bound. I’m flat on my back, strapped to a narrow bed, and the restraints—holy shit, I recognize them.

They’re padded cuffs, the kind we use on combative patients in the ER. The irony of that familiarity, here and now, is a horror all its own.

I pull at the restraints, testing them. They don’t give even an inch. I pull harder, thrashing now, my heart slamming against my ribs in a frantic, desperate rhythm, but the movement sends fresh waves of pain crashing through my skull, my vision swimming with black spots. I have to stop and breathe through it.

My breaths are shallow and ragged, my mouth filling with saliva. Fuck me, I’m going to be sick.

My eyes dart around the room. I don’t remember how I got here. The last thing I remember is the shoving Seraphina to Marta and running through the gardens. I remember the evil look on that man’s face right before he hit me. Then nothing. A blank, a terrifying void where something was done to me. To my head.

I have no idea how long I’ve been gone, and I certainly have no idea where I am or if Seraphina is safe.

The not knowing, the helplessness is a separate agony, layered on top of the fear and the pain.

My hand curls instinctively toward my stomach toward the tiny, fragile life growing inside me.

But I can’t reach and despair settles over me. I can’t protect them. I can’t do anything.

The tears come then, hot and blinding, tracking sideways into my hair at that small failure. I can’t even wipe them away because of my bound hands. I can’t even hide this moment of weakness from whoever might be watching. I bite my lip, trying to stifle my sobs.

Suddenly, the lock clicks and I whip my head around, hissing at the pain that lances through my head. I go rigid, my breath catching in my throat.

A strange man enters, almost casual in his movements. He’s not tall or physically imposing, but there’s something about his presence that fills the space that seems to suck the air from the room.

He pulls a chair up to my bedside, the metal legs scraping against the concrete floor.

The sound sets my teeth on edge and a shiver races down my spine.

He sits, crossing one leg over the other, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

I force myself to look at him and take in the details. Mid-forties, I’d guess, with a face that’s almost aggressively average.

Brown hair, brown eyes, and forgettable features. He’s someone who could blend into any crowd and disappear without a trace.

But his eyes…

I swallow heavily, feeling fear climb through me. There’s nothing average about his eyes.

They’re cold and flat, utterly devoid of warmth or empathy.

They sweep over me calculatingly like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. Or a lab rat he’s about to dissect.

“Dr. Katerina Sokolov,” he says calmly, almost pleasantly as if we’re meeting over coffee, not in this nightmare of a room. “I’ve been looking forward to this conversation for quite some time.”

I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. “W-Who are you?” I rasp, my voice hoarse and scratchy. “What do you want from me?”

He smiles, but it’s a thin, humorless stretch of his lips. “My name is Marco Russo. And as for what I want, well…” He shrugs. “That’s a bit of a complex question, isn’t it?”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, gaze boring into mine. “But let’s start with the simple answer. I want you, Dr. Sokolov. I want you to be the instrument of my ascension, the key that unlocks the future I’ve been building toward for years.”

I stare at him, my heart pounding in my throat. “I don’t…I don’t understand. I’m just a doctor. I’m not a part of your world.”

Russo laughs, and it’s a quiet, chilling sound that makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “Oh, but you are, Katerina—can I call you Katerina? Or would you prefer Kat?”

I startle at that and the humorless smile on his face grows. “Yes, Dr. Sokolov, I know a lot about you. You’ve been a part of this since the moment you saved Nico Barone’s life and he saw something he couldn’t resist.”