The first thing I hear is the steady, rhythmic beeping of machines. It's faint at first, like a distant echo, but it grows louder as I slowly drift toward consciousness.
My throat feels like sandpaper, dry and scratchy, and I swallow hard, wincing at the pain that shoots through my neck.
Every part of my body aches, but the worst is my neck and my left side. Vague memories flash in my mind—claws digging into my flesh, the sharp crunch of my ribs... the smell of blood.
My blood.
I try to move, but my body feels heavy, like it's made of lead. My eyelids flutter, and I hear voices.
Two of them. Familiar, but distant, like they're speaking through water. I focus on the sound, letting it pull me closer to the surface.
"...lost seventeen enforcers," one voice says. It's deep, strained. Caspian. "And the ones who survived… some of them might not make it. The clinic's full. We're running out of space, out of supplies."