The darkness was brutally torn apart, like a veil ripped away from the light. Mordred was wrenched from his nightmare world... only to fall into another.
Isaac's eyes flew open suddenly. The grayish ceiling, the vibrating neon lights, the enclosed room with its metallic and disinfectant smell. The return was brutal, immediate. His wrists instantly hurt the runic handcuffs still firmly in place behind his back. His body was bound to this metal chair, cold against his skin, and his muscles screamed with fatigue and pain.
And before him, just inches from his bruised face... Marc Lemaire's smile.
A triumphant smile. Viscerally unwholesome. A predator's smile who had just found a weakness, an opening, leverage.
- "You're finally awake..." whispered the inspector, his voice flowing, sickeningly sweet. "Perfect."
