Ramsey wakes to a throbbing pain pulsing in his skull, a dull ache reverberating through his entire body.
He feels disoriented, his vision blurry, the world around him a hazy blur of colors and sounds.
He tries to sit up, but a wave of nausea washes over him, forcing him back down. He is being carried, his limp body cradled in strong arms.
He senses the gentle sway of movement and hears the hushed whispers of voices nearby.
"Robin... Robin..." he mumbles, his voice a weak rasp. He struggles to open his eyes, but the effort is too much. His head throbs with each movement, and his vision flickers in and out of focus.
He hears the voices murmuring, their words indistinct, but one phrase pierces through the haze: "... Likely has a concussion."
He wants to fight back, to resist, to break free from their grasp.
He needs to find Robin, to get to her, to tell her he is here, to tell her he is coming. But his body betrays him.
