**SASHA**
I wake slowly, dragged upward through layers of heavy, disjointed awareness that do not line up the way they should, and the first thing I notice is the cold, which seeps into my bones rather than sitting on my skin, the kind of cold that tells me I am underground long before my eyes fully open. My head throbs in a dull, persistent rhythm, every pulse echoing the aftermath of wolfsbane through my veins, and when I try to move, my body responds with sluggish resistance that borders on betrayal.
Stone presses against my back.
Not smooth stone like the packhouse corridors, but rough and uneven, damp enough that the fabric of my clothes clings uncomfortably to my skin, and the air smells old, layered with mildew, iron, and something metallic that makes my stomach tighten. I force
