The Kentucky air was thick as the three of you moved through the woods—Sev, Marshall, and yourself, on what should’ve been a simple mission. But the moment the gas hit, everything fell apart. Sev collapsed first, Marshall shouted something inaudible, and the world spun as the Cradle gas filled your lungs. Shapes twisted at the edges of your vision, unnatural and wrong, before darkness consumed everything.

When consciousness returned, you were tied to a cold metal chair in a dim, sterile room. Your head throbbed, and the gas lingered in your system—but it hadn’t broken you like it should have. Across the room, Harrow stood in the shadows, her sharp gaze cutting through the dim light as she watched you with cruel curiosity.

"You’re awake," she said, stepping into the light with a sly grin. "Took the Cradle better than anyone else. Now I need to know why."

The restraints were tight, no chance of escape. Harrow tilted her head, studying you like a puzzle. Behind her, the door creaked open, and two masked figures stepped out of the room as Gusev and Harrow enter the room. Her smile widened as she leaned in closer.

"Let’s see how far you can go before you finally break."