Karl groaned, the sound raw in his throat as he stirred, his head pulsing with an ache that felt like it had been born in his bones.
The floor beneath him was cold and slick, a layer of moisture soaking through his jacket and chilling his skin. The air was heavy with damp rot and something metallic—blood, maybe, or rust—and it clung to the back of his throat with every shallow breath he drew.
As he shifted, trying to lift his head, a spike of pain shot through his skull, making his vision blur and his limbs falter. He winced, biting down on a curse.
His cheek rested against rough stone. Water pooled in shallow dips around him, seeping into his sleeves, and turning the fabric clammy. His hands throbbed with a dull, persistent pain, bound tightly in front of him with a coarse rope that had already rubbed the skin raw. He blinked hard, trying to focus, and slowly the space around him began to come into view.
