The throbbing pain in his head was the first thing Rowan noticed when he gained consciousness— like a hot cow prod was being used to drum a war anthem on his skull and eyeballs, the back of his head felt like there was a dent in it. He groaned lowly, lifting a shaky hand to the back of his head. His fingers brushed a tender, swollen knot. He had definitely banged his head hard on something.
What the hell…?
His other senses began trickling in, he finally noticed cold stone under his feet, a coppery taste of blood in his mouth, the scent of cold walls and recycled air. He realized then that he wasn't lying down, but seated upright on something hard and uncomfortable. His eyes fluttered open and he squinted into the glare of the harsh light from the naked bulb high above.
"Where… am I?" he muttered weakly, voice cracking.
