He barely registers the sharp prick at the back of his neck before the world fades into oblivion. The next thing he knows, he’s awake, disoriented, and restrained. His body is stiff, his arms fastened securely to the arms of a cold, metallic chair. His wings are pinned to his back, unable to stretch or move.

The room is stark and silent, save for the occasional beeping of some unseen machine. His gaze flicks toward the figure at the far end of the room, their back to him, absorbed in something—perhaps unaware of his regained consciousness.

His golden eyes narrow as he tests the strength of the restraints again, his body straining against the hold. “This is a mistake,” he murmurs softly, a sense of calm determination settling over him as he plans his next move.