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Consciousness returned in pieces scattered across hours.

First, the smell of antiseptic and ozone, sharp enough to cut through the fog in her mind. Then the soft hum of machinery, a constant drone that vibrated through her bones. Finally, the awareness that she was lying on something too firm to be her hotel bed, with something cold pressed to her inner arm.

Victoria's eyes opened to blinding white.

Not the warm white of stage lights, but the clinical white of a room with no windows and too many surfaces that gleamed like they had been sterilized a hundred times. She tried to sit up and found an IV line running from her arm to a machine that beeped softly beside her.

Where am I?

The last thing she remembered was the stage, the lights, and that horrifying vision of fire and blood and wings. Everything after was blank, a void where hours should have been. She reached for the call button that should have been beside any hospital bed, but found nothing. The monitors around her displayed readings she could not interpret, numbers and waves that meant nothing to her performer's brain.

Her throat felt raw, her mouth dry as sand. When she tried to speak, only a croak emerged. Victoria swallowed hard and tried again.

"Hello?"

Her voice echoed in the empty room, flat and lifeless. No one answered. The machines continued their steady beeping, indifferent to her panic.

Victoria pulled at the IV line experimentally, testing whether she could remove it herself. The tape holding it in place was medical grade, designed to withstand movement. She would have to rip it out, and the thought of tearing through her own skin made her stomach turn.

The door opened with a soft hiss, automatic and seamless.

The man who entered wore a white lab coat over expensive casual clothes, his dark hair perfectly styled despite what must have been late hours. His smile was warm and familiar, a lifeline in the sterile unknown.

"Aster." Relief flooded through her like warm water.

"Hey, Tori." Aster Ren crossed to her bedside, his expression carefully arranged into practiced concern. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I fell off a stage in front of fifty thousand people." She tried to laugh, but it came out weak and brittle. "What happened? Where am I?"

"You are in the Seraph Institute, in our private medical wing." He checked one of the monitors, his fingers moving with the easy confidence of someone who understood every readout. "You collapsed from severe exhaustion. Your management called me immediately. I had you brought here instead of a public hospital. The press would have made it a circus."

The Seraph Institute.

The name carried weight even in her celebrity circles, whispered about in green rooms and at exclusive parties. The world's leading facility in bio-arcane research, where science had learned to measure and manipulate magic itself. Aster had worked there since graduating top of his class from the Royal Academy, something he mentioned often enough that she had stopped being impressed years ago.

"I had this vision..." she started, but Aster was already shaking his head.

"Hallucinations are common with severe exhaustion, especially in someone with your unique physiology." His tone was gentle, the way you would speak to a child who did not understand. "Your fae heritage makes you more susceptible to sensory overload. The lights, the crowd energy, the physical demands of touring, it all adds up."

It made sense. It made perfect, logical sense. But the vision had felt so real, more real than this sterile room with its too-bright walls and machines that hummed like insects.

"How long have I been here?"

"About six hours. It is just past three in the morning." Aster pulled up a chair, settling in with the ease of someone who planned to stay. "I want to keep you here for observation, run some tests to make sure everything is functioning properly. A few days, maybe a week at most."

A week.

Victoria's schedule was planned out months in advance. A week meant canceled shows, disappointed fans, breached contracts. Her management would be furious. Her sister would be terrified.

"I need to call my manager. And Eira, she will be worried sick."

"Already taken care of. I have assured everyone you are in the best possible hands." Aster's smile widened, but something about it did not quite reach his eyes. "Right now, you need to focus on recovery. Let me handle everything else."

The door hissed open again. A nurse entered, her movements efficient and silent as she adjusted Victoria's IV. She did not make eye contact, did not speak, just performed her task and left like a ghost in white scrubs.

I am not in a hospital, Victoria thought, watching the door seal shut behind the nurse. I am in a laboratory.

The realization settled cold in her stomach. The sterile environment, the advanced equipment, the way Aster watched her with clinical fascination barely hidden behind friendly concern. She was not a patient here

She was a specimen to be studied.