The first two rows were empty. Ten of the back twelve held occupants. Orfeus made herself stand still, scanning the room. There was a small cupboard to one side, and she walked over to it, infinitely slowly, infinitely careful. Twisted the knob and opened it soundlessly, and she tensed as a spill of rubber tubing fell out.

Nothing else in there, no one else in there.

Orfeus went to the bound people.

They were cast in shadow, this far from the light, just dim shapes. Orfeus bent down, staring intently. “Rivasoa, closer,” she said.

There was a moment, but then Rivasoa’s gold light swelled over the scene. Orfeus heard her make a sharp gasp.

Orfeus bit her own lip to keep from making a sound, and the salty metal taste of blood filled her mouth as she stared. The people trapped and strapped in those chairs mostly looked unconscious, and that might’ve been a blessing. As well as the shackles at wrist and ankle, cables lead into them and wires lead out. Wires running up under their fingernails, tubes into their veins and out of them. She didn’t want to get too close, but their heads looked to be connected directly into those cradles.

She didn’t want to think about what the stains on the cradles were.

She paced along the line until she came to someone who looked to be conscious. Looked to be. Their eyes were open, but unseeing, flooded with blood. Orfeus looked at the person next to them and tensed, shoulders drawing together, she couldn’t help it. That one had wires bursting right out through their eyes, wires in a colourful gaggle of colours, red and yellow and blue.

Orfeus covered her mouth with her hand. She breathed out, then in, slow and careful.

She dropped her hand and looked at the conscious one. A thick tube connected to the back of their neck, wires under their nails and in their arms and their legs. Their mouth was open, and another soft, ragged breath eased out, harsh with pain. She couldn’t be surprised. The tips of their fingers were blackened, nails peeling back from the wires, and black marks spread out from the corners of their dry lips and around their eyes. Thick patches of blisters erupted up from their neck and across their arms.

“Hi,” Orfeus said softly. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing. The blind, staring eyes didn’t roll to look at her. A quiet, ragged breath.

Orfeus tapped her foot restlessly. She didn’t need to hold energy in reserve now. She held her hand out over their shoulder —wanted badly to fix those hands, but she couldn’t risk mending the flesh right over the wires. “Heal,” she said quietly.

Flesh knitted together, slowly. Slower than it should have, and even after she concentrated and the worst thick blisters eased into new skin, it had a ridged and reddened look.