Sera woke to restraint.
Not abruptly. Not with panic.
Just the awareness of pressure in the wrong places.
Her arms were extended outward at an angle that pulled at her shoulders. Her wrists were locked into cold metal cuffs lined with a gel that burned faintly against her skin. Her legs were held in place by weighted braces, not tight enough to hurt but firm enough to prevent leverage. Her spine rested against a narrow platform that slanted slightly backward, forcing her chest open.
The table beneath her vibrated softly, a constant mechanical hum that she felt more than heard.
The air smelled wrong.
Not antiseptic, not rot or decay.
It was the scent of chemicals like every other room of this lab.
Sterile. Cold.
Light cut across her vision in pale bands, bright enough that she blinked twice before her eyes adjusted. Above her, panels glowed a muted white-blue. The light did not flicker. It pulsed, slow and steady, like something breathing.
