Zane woke into darkness that was not quite dark.
The lights were dimmed low, softened into something meant to soothe rather than illuminate, and for several seconds he could not understand where he was or why his body felt so heavy. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that did not feel like his own. His body obeyed something external, something that did not wait for permission. There was a pressure in his throat, foreign and unbearable, a presence that made swallowing impossible, and when he tried, reflex met obstruction and panic flared instantly, hot and irrational.
He tried to move.
His arms did not respond the way he expected. The signal left his brain and disappeared somewhere before it reached his muscles. His hands felt warm, restrained, occupied, as though they were not fully his anymore. The sensation was deeply wrong, the kind of wrong that bypassed logic and went straight to survival instinct.
