Clement's senses were returning slowly, the weight of the cuff becoming more solid, the lights more vivid.
His captors were behind him. He had his back to them, lying on his side. For a moment, he wondered if the gaps between their conversation were really that long or if he was just fading in and out of consciousness. He attempted to carefully adjust his wrist against the unforgiving bite of the cuff's cold constraint, but the movement sent a sharp, shooting pain up his arm.
The groan escaped his throat before Clement could stifle it.
"He's waking up."
He wanted to swear. Too late now.
There was shuffling behind him. Someone rose from a chair, and he heard the dull tread of their boots. It was the woman - she spoke again, "Try not to move too quickly. You got caught up in the blast, and it knocked you around pretty good."
