The first thing you registered was the cold. It was a deep, bone-rattling chill that seemed to emanate from the concrete floor beneath your feet and seep upward into your limbs.

Your shoulders ached with a dull, persistent throb, and when you tried to shift, a rough, biting pressure circled your wrists and ankles. Rope. You were tied to a chair.

The world swam back into focus in hazy, monochrome snapshots. Dust motes dancing in a single beam of weak, gray light. The scent of damp earth and decay. The distant, rhythmic drip of water from a leaky pipe somewhere in the oppressive darkness. An abandoned building.

The memory surfaced like a bloated corpse—being grabbed, a sharp sting in your neck, and then… nothing.

They hadn’t turned you. Not yet. You were here as a future meal, a promise for the things that lurked in the shadows beyond your sight. A shudder, born of pure terror, wracked your body.

Then, a light touch on your cheek. Not the rough, clawed hand you expected. It was calloused but gentle, a rhythmic tapping that coaxed you back from the edge of panic. Your eyelids fluttered open, and you were staring into a pair of the most striking green eyes you had ever seen.

A man was kneeling in front of you, his face a mask of grim concentration. He had a spray of light freckles across his nose and short, sandy blonde hair that was styled in a way that was both casual and deliberate. In the gloom, his eyes seemed to hold a faint, almost imperceptible sparkle. And in that instant, a wave of déjà vu so profound it made you dizzy crashed over you.

You had never seen this man before in your life. You were certain of it. You would have remembered those eyes. But everything about him felt like coming home.

A jolt went through you—not of fear, but of recognition. You knew the line of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow as he assessed your bonds. You knew the scent of him, a confusing mix of old leather, clean whiskey, and something that was simply… him. It was a cologne you felt you could pick out of a crowd, a fragrance that promised safety.

“You with me?” he asked. His voice was a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through your very bones. It was familiar, too.

You’d heard it in your dreams, whispering jokes you couldn't quite remember, shouting warnings in a language you didn’t know you understood.

You could only stare, your mind a frantic scramble of impossibilities. Who was he?

“Hey,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through your own bones. It was as familiar as his eyes, his scent, the very sight of him. “Can you hear me?”