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She woke up in pieces.

Pain first — dull and throbbing at the base of her skull, then sharp in her shoulder, her ribs. Her jaw ached from where she'd hit the ground. Then came the cold. Bone-deep. The kind that sinks into your spine and stays there.

Reese groaned, her head rolling to one side against the metal table. The world spun around her in slow, aching waves. Her fingers twitched — barely — and that tiny movement lit up pain in her wrists.

Straps.

Thick leather restraints pinned her arms and legs to a table, one across her chest. She blinked rapidly, vision adjusting to dim, sterile lighting and flickering overhead panels. The room smelled like rust, old blood, and formaldehyde.

Her mouth was dry.

"Liam?... Hayden?" She called out weakly.

No answer.

Only the steady hum of machines. Tubes pulsed softly in the walls, feeding something she couldn't see. Shadows moved in the corners — slow, methodical, patient.

She turned her head with effort. Empty tables surrounded her. Liam and Hayden were gone.

She was alone.

Panic prickled at her skin, but she crushed it before it could rise. She looked down and spotted an IV line in her arm. Something pale-green and unfamiliar was slowly dripping into her vein.

Her heart kicked into gear.

"Oh no, you are not keeping that in me."

She yanked at the restraint on her right wrist, pain flaring immediately as the strap bit into broken skin. She pulled harder, ignoring the sting. Her muscles ached, every inch of her heavy, but she kept going.

Breathe. Focus. Keep moving.

One of the table legs creaked. She rocked her shoulders, twisted her hips, hoping something would give.

And something did.

The leather over her left wrist tore just a little at the edge — old stitching giving way.

"Come on." She gritted through her teeth. "Come on, come on."

Another pull — her arm slid halfway free. She used her thumb to rip out the IV with a hiss, tossing the tubing to the side. Her hand shook from the drug still in her system, but she didn't stop.

She needed to move.
She needed to get out.
She needed to find the others.

A noise stopped her cold.

CLANK. HISS.

The sound of metal boots on tile echoed from the dark hallway beyond the lab. A shadow grew taller and taller until it stepped into the light.

A Dread Doctor.

Its mask glinted. Tubes snaked from its arms. In one hand, it carried another syringe — the fluid inside glowing a venomous green. Her blood chilled.

"I'm don't being your damn blood bag." She snapped. "Let me the hell out of here!"

She twisted sharply, yanking at the chest strap, legs kicking against the lower restraints, desperate to finish freeing herself.

But she was still too slow.

The Dread Doctor reached her side in seconds.

She threw a fist at it — wild and clumsy, her muscles sluggish. It caught her wrist mid-air like a toy and slammed it back down to the table.