The silence inside my head was unnerving. I'd grown used to the system's constant presence—its warnings, its updates, even its nagging. Now, without it, I felt like a ship adrift, cut off from everything that had kept me grounded. And I was starting to wonder just how much trouble I was in. I knew I should have listened to the damn system.
The damp air of our prison was heavy, making it hard to breathe. My wrists burned where the ropes bit into my skin, and my head still pounded from the blow that had knocked me out. Across from me, Damian was awake, his eyes sharp as he scanned our surroundings. Even in this mess, he radiated a calm I envied.
"How's your head?" he asked quietly, his voice low enough that our captors wouldn't hear.
"I've had better days," I said, managing a weak smile. "You?"
"I'll live," he said, though his clenched jaw told another story. "We need to figure out who they are and what they want."
