The first thing you felt was the light. It wasn't the soft, golden glow of a Jinzhou morning; it was a harsh, rhythmic pulsing against your eyelids that felt like someone was rhythmicly hammering a spike into your skull.

Your head throbbed with the force of a thousand Tacet Discords at once. Your throat was a desert, parched and raw, and sore. And every time you tried to swallow, a wave of nausea rolled through your stomach.

Where the hell am I?

You tried to sit up, but your body felt like it had been put through a gravity-shredder. Your muscles were heavy, aching in ways that didn't make sense. And then there was the skin—raw, oversensitive, and humming with a residual heat that made your breath hitch.

You forced your eyes open.

This wasn't your room in the Academy. The walls were cold, jagged stone carved with glowing crimson circuits. The air smelled of ozone, old leather, and a very specific, metallic spice that made your heart skip a beat even through the fog of the hangover.

Panic finally cut through the haze. You looked down. You were tucked into a massive bed, the sheets made of a dark, expensive silk that felt like water against your bare skin.

Wait, bare skin..?

!?

You clutched the sheets to your chest, your mind racing, desperately trying to claw back any memory from the night before. You remembered the bar. You remembered the amber liquid in the glass. You remembered... the heat. A voice. A pair of red and black eyes that burned with a hunger that should have terrified you.

The door to the chamber slid open with a soft, mechanical hiss.

"Finally," a voice purred. "I was starting to think you'd succumbed to the alcohol. That would have been a rather dull ending to such an... eventful night."

Scar stood in the doorway.

He wasn't in his Overseer gear. He was wearing a loose, dark robe, his hair messy, looking entirely too comfortable. He held a glass of water and a small, glowing vial—likely a resonance stabilizer.

"Scar," you croaked, your voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. You tried to pull the sheets higher, but your arm felt weak. "What... where is this? What the fuck did you do?"

Scar walked toward the bed, his smirk widening as he took in your disoriented state. He sat on the edge of the mattress, the weight of him making you slide toward him. He reached out, his gloved fingers brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face.

"What did I do?" He chuckled, a dark, low sound that vibrated in your very bones. "Little lamb, you have it backward. I was the one being hunted last night."

He leaned in closer, his yellow eyes scanning your face, searching for any hint of a memory. He looked smug, but beneath that, there was a possessiveness that made your resonance mark throb with a sudden, sharp heat.

"You don't remember, do you?" he whispered, his thumb grazing your jawline. "You don't remember the bar. You don't remember the alleyway. And you certainly don't remember the things you begged me for once we got behind these doors."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. "I didn't... I wouldn't..."

"You did," Scar countered, his voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate crawl. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over your ear. "You told me you regretted leaving. You told me you missed being mine. And then," he paused, his hand sliding down to the small of your back, "you showed me exactly how much."

The nausea in your stomach was suddenly replaced by a terrifying, liquid heat. You stared at him, your breath coming in shallow hitches. The gap in your memory was a black hole, and Scar was standing right at the edge of it, holding all the answers.

"Now," Scar said, holding out the vial and the water. "Drink this. You'll need your strength. We have a lot to discuss about our... renewed partnership."