Azrael woke slowly, as if his mind had to swim through darkness before breaching the surface.
His breath hitched the moment he opened his eyes. The cold stone ceiling above him wasn't the same one from the pocket dimension. The air smelled different, too. It felt clean, metallic, and almost sterile. He pushed himself upright, blinking hard as his vision adjusted.
A bed. A real one at that. And a room with light, walls, and furniture. And—
He felt something around his neck.
A metal collar?
Before panic could settle in his mind, a voice cut through the room.
"You're awake."
Azrael jerked his head toward the sound. Azzy stood at the far end of the room with his hands folded behind his back. His expression was calm but firm. His presence filled the space, not with pressure, but with an unspoken warning—don't do anything stupid.
Azrael glared, ready to snap, ready to curse, and still ready to fling whatever hatred he had left...
