Amara hung in the center of the room, suspended in a vertical resonance chair that felt less like furniture and more like an instrument of dissection. Her wrists and ankles were bound by reinforced polymer straps, but it was the neural harness that truly anchored her.
She was awake, but it was not real. The sedatives Vane had pumped into her system were fighting against the frantic, pulsing energy of the mark on her neck. It felt as though a war were being fought inside her veins, the cold, chemical sludge of the humans versus the white-hot, ancient fire of the Dravik.
Darien. She called his name in the silence of her mind, reaching for the bond that had become her anchor over the last few months. Usually, the bond was a vast, obsidian ocean, deep, warm, and hummed with the steady, reassuring thud of his heart. It was a connection that told her she was never truly alone, even in the dark.
But as she reached out now, she hit a wall of static.
