Grace POV

Pain hits first—sharp, everywhere, like my body's been shredded and poorly stitched back together.

I force my eyes open. The ceiling above me is unfamiliar, ornate molding catching soft morning light. Not the basement. Not chains. Not concrete.

I'm in a bed.

Bandages wrap around my wrists, tight and clean. My torso feels the same—bound, protected. Every breath pulls at something tender beneath the gauze.

"Grace."

My head ...