Elias Varn woke to a cold so deep it sank into his bones, a sterile chill that smelled of antiseptic and metal. His eyes fluttered open, the world a blur without his glasses, and he blinked against the harsh white light glaring from a ceiling panel. His head throbbed, a dull ache pulsing in time with the ember in his chest, now muted but restless, a caged flame flickering beneath his ribs. He tried to move, but his wrists were bound—smooth cuffs, not metal but something slick and unyielding, pinning him to a padded chair that tilted slightly back. His jumpsuit was gone, replaced by a thin gray gown that rustled as he shifted, the fabric rough against his skin.
Panic clawed up his throat, and he tugged at the restraints, his breath hitching as the memory flooded back—the tunnel, the darts, Rory's fall. "Rory?" he croaked, voice raw and weak, barely audible over the faint hum of machinery. The room came into focus—a stark cube of white walls and polished steel, a one-way mirror dominating one side, a tray of instruments glinting beside him. Needles, probes, a tablet screen flashing graphs he couldn't read. His stomach churned, the ember flaring faintly, but no pulse came—only a dull heat that made him wince.
Footsteps clicked beyond the mirror, crisp and deliberate, and a door slid open with a hiss, revealing Dr. Thalia Voss. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled tight, her coat pristine white, and her sharp eyes locked onto him with a predator's calm. She carried her tablet, its screen glowing with data, and a faint smile curved her lips as she stepped closer, her heels echoing in the sterile silence. "Good morning, Elias," she said, her voice smooth as glass. "You've been asleep for twelve hours—sedatives are quite effective, aren't they?"
Elias shrank into the chair, the cuffs biting into his wrists. "Where—where am I?" he stammered, squinting to see her through the blur. "Where's Rory? What did you do to him?" The ember pulsed, a weak spark, and his eyes shimmered faintly, a glow that flickered but didn't ignite.
Voss tilted her head, studying him like a specimen under a lens. "Your friend is safe—for now. Contained, like you, but unharmed. We're not barbarians, Elias." She tapped her tablet, and a hologram flared above it—a 3D map of his pulses, red spikes marking the hospital, the tunnel, the shed. "You, however, are a marvel. An anomaly I've been chasing for years. That power of yours—it's rewriting everything we know."
"I don't want it," Elias whispered, tears welling as the ember ached, a heat he couldn't release. "Let me go—please. I'm not what you think."
"Oh, but you are," Voss said, stepping closer, her smile widening. "You're a catalyst—a spark igniting latent potential, waking things that shouldn't be awake. The hospital survivors, your little skateboarder, those… entities in the tunnels. It's all you." She leaned in, her breath cool against his face. "And I intend to understand how. Why. What's driving it."
Elias's chest tightened, the Shroud's voice stirring: "They cannot hold you." He flinched, and Voss's eyes narrowed, catching the flicker in his. "It's talking to you, isn't it?" she asked, her tone shifting to curiosity. "That presence—the Shroud, your captives call it. What does it say?"
He shook his head, tears spilling over. "I don't know what it is—just let me go! I'm not a—a thing to cut apart!" The ember flared, a pulse threatening to break free, but the cuffs hummed, a sharp jolt coursing through his wrists, snuffing it out. He gasped, slumping back, the glow in his eyes dimming.
Voss straightened, tapping her tablet again. "Fascinating. The suppressors work—your power's tied to emotional spikes, isn't it? Fear, mostly." She turned to the mirror, gesturing, and a panel slid open, revealing a cart with a syringe—clear liquid glinting in the harsh light. "We'll need to test that. Map it. You're the key to something bigger, Elias, whether you like it or not."
"No—no, please—" Elias thrashed, the cuffs holding firm, and the ember fought, a heat that burned without release. The voice grew louder, a resonant hum: "The Shroud endures." His eyes glowed brighter, a pulse rippling through him, but the suppressors jolted again, sharper, and he cried out, vision swimming as a tech in a hazmat suit approached with the syringe.
Before the needle touched him, a klaxon blared, red lights flashing across the room. Voss spun, her tablet beeping, and a voice crackled through an intercom: "Containment breach—secondary subject active!" Her smile vanished, replaced by a scowl as she barked, "Secure him—now!" The tech hesitated, then plunged the syringe into Elias's arm, cold spreading from the injection, numbing the ember further. His head lolled, the glow fading, and the room tilted as Voss stormed out, her heels a fading echo.
Darkness tugged at him, but a crash jolted him awake—metal buckling, shouts echoing beyond the door. The mirror shuddered, cracks spiderwebbing across it, and Rory burst through, his hoodie torn, his hands glowing with vibration that pulsed through the air. "Elias!" he shouted, skidding to the chair and yanking at the cuffs, the hum in his hands cracking them open. "Hang on—I've got you!"
Elias blinked, the sedative dulling his senses, but relief flooded him, weak and fleeting. "Rory—how—" His voice slurred, and Rory hauled him up, slinging Elias's arm over his shoulder.
"Later—move!" Rory dragged him toward the door, the vibration flaring as he kicked it wider, revealing a hallway of white tiles and flashing alarms. Two guards in tactical gear lay sprawled, their visors cracked, and a drone sparked on the floor, its red light winking out. "They stuck me in a cell—thought I was out, but your spark's still kicking in me," Rory panted, grinning despite the chaos. "Busted out when the alarms hit."
Elias stumbled, his legs leaden, the ember a faint flicker beneath the sedative's haze. "They—they know," he mumbled, squinting without his glasses. "Voss—she's… she's after the Shroud."
"Yeah, figured she's nuts," Rory said, pulling him down the hall as shouts echoed behind—boots, radios, a rising tide of pursuit. The vibration in his hands pulsed, rattling the walls, and he shoved Elias toward a stairwell, its sign flickering: Sublevel 3. "Down—only way out's through!"
They staggered into the stairwell, the air colder, heavier, and the blue glow returned—a faint pulse seeping from below, syncing with the ember's weak beat. Elias's head spun, the Shroud's voice whispering through the fog: "Beneath lies truth." He clutched Rory's arm, the sedative numbing his fear but not his dread. "It's—it's down there," he slurred, pointing at the stairs descending into shadow.
Rory hesitated, his grin fading. "Great—more creepy glow. You sure?"
"No," Elias rasped, but the glow tugged at him, a call he couldn't ignore. They descended, the stairs slick with condensation, and the blue intensified, illuminating etchings on the walls—more shadowy figures, their eyes blazing, a gallery of the awakened. The stairwell ended at a sealed door, its surface humming with energy, and the voice roared: "You are its voice."
Before Rory could react, the door shuddered, cracks splitting its steel, and a pulse—Elias's, weak but defiant—broke free, the sedative cracking under the Shroud's pull. The door buckled, revealing a chamber vast and dark, the floor pulsing blue, a shadow coiling at its center—not a figure, but a presence, alive and watching.
"Elias—" Rory started, but alarms blared louder, boots thundering above, and Voss's voice cut through an intercom: "Seal the breach—containment priority one!" The net was closing, and the Shroud waited, its truth a step away.