Souls Through Time (EzioxOC/DesmondxOC)

EPILOGUE

Claire woke with the sharp metallic scent of sterile air filling her senses, a strange, biting sensation that felt like it was seeping into her bones. Her head throbbed, pulsing painfully, as if someone had slammed her skull against stone, and when she tried to move, the weight of the confinement settled over her body like thick chains, heavy and unyielding. The cold, grey concrete beneath her was harsh against her skin, a cruel reminder of just how trapped she was.

Blinking slowly, she fought to shake off the fog clouding her mind. The harsh, unforgiving overhead lights burned into her eyes, and her body felt stiff, weak—immobile for too long. As she shifted, the scratchy fabric of the grey jumpsuit clung to her skin uncomfortably. She instinctively reached for her wrists, the soft but familiar ache from where she had been bound still lingering. Restraints—unseen but pressing in on every muscle, rendering her movements slow and unwilling.

A low hum filled the air, making her breath catch. Claire's eyes darted around the room, trying to process her surroundings. The cold, impersonal walls of the containment cell seemed to pulse with an eerie energy of their own—silent, inescapable, pressing down on her with a suffocating force. The sterile lights glinted off the walls, casting long, jagged shadows that made everything feel more alien, more distant.

Her fingers trembled as they brushed across her face, and in that moment, a wave of horror washed over her when she realized there was no weapon. No means of escape. Only the grey fabric—another reminder of the world that had been stolen from her. She was defenseless. Helpless. Trapped once again.

Memories of Desmond flooded her mind—his face, his eyes filled with resolve, his quiet voice offering words of comfort, even as they said goodbye. That moment between them. A bittersweet farewell. And then... nothing. Nothing but an empty, crushing void where he had once been. His absence was louder than any sound.

And then, with chilling clarity, reality set in.

Abstergo.

She was back in their grasp.

Her heart hammered in her chest, a cold knot forming in her stomach as she began to remember everything. The last thing she had done—lying down next to Desmond, hoping that sleep would take her, that she wouldn't wake up to this nightmare. She remembered her words to Aiden and Paul, the harshness in her voice, the way she'd pushed them away when they tried to help. How cruel she had been, how angry, how broken. Regret gnawed at her insides, twisting like a dagger, a fresh wound she didn't know how to heal.

Claire's pulse quickened as the weight of the situation settled in, but she forced herself to move. She couldn't stay on the floor, couldn't remain passive while her mind spiraled. Pushing herself up onto her shaky legs, Claire took in her surroundings, each detail sharp and searing against the fog in her head.

The walls were cold, an unforgiving grey that seemed to swallow any sense of warmth. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead bathed the space in a sterile, sickly glow, casting shadows that stretched long and oppressive. The air was thick, stale, and suffocating. It clung to her skin, making her feel like she couldn't breathe properly.

Her eyes scanned the room, assessing every inch of her prison. The floor was cold concrete, cracked in places where the wear of time had begun to take its toll. To her left was a small cot, its thin, uncomfortable mattress the only piece of furniture, and the only place she had been allowed to lie since waking. Her wrists still ached from where they had been bound, and the tightness of her jumpsuit felt like another shackle keeping her contained.

As her gaze moved across the room, she noticed a large window to her right. It was nearly floor-to-ceiling, offering a view into another room, though the thick, opaque glass distorted the details. Behind it, she could make out the faint shadows of what looked like several figures, standing still, watching her. Three guards, their silhouettes barely visible, but she could feel their eyes on her, cold and unblinking. A camera above the window captured her every movement, recording it all. She knew the familiar drill—observe, document, control.