Aden Clarkson
Someone is calling Sophia by name and talking, but the voice is faint, almost out of reach. And each time he tries to decipher what the voice says, the words swirl in his brain in a distorted jumble or letters that don't seem to make sense.
Aden's eyes move under heavy lids, sliding back and forth.
Taking a deep breath, he sucks air into his lungs. His chest hurts even with shallow breaths. Scanning the room, he spots Sophia lying on a bed.
He moves his arm to scratch an itch but discovers he can't reach his face. Looking down, he takes in the metal shackles encasing his wrists and ankles.
"You may struggle, beast, but you won't find release this day unless it is death you seek," the Hound says.
"Why is that?" Aden moves and the links of the chain rattle against the floor.
"Because we reinforce the restraints with black magic." The Hound's voice carries an underline smirk to it.