Cass's eyes peeled open slowly, her vision swimming with hazy, unfocused shapes. Her head throbbed, each pulse of pain like a hammer striking her skull. She groaned softly, her voice hoarse, and blinked, trying to bring the room into focus. The air around her was cool, and there was a faint, acrid scent—smoke. It stung her nose, making her stomach churn.
She tried to move, but her arms didn't budge. Panic clawed at her as she realized her wrists were bound, cold metal biting into her skin. She was sitting upright, the chair beneath her stiff and unforgiving. Her ankles, too, were restrained. She tugged at the cuffs again, wincing as the sharp edges bit into her wrists, her skin raw from hours of friction. Her shoulders ached, her body stiff from being held in one position for too long.
