Of course Prompto had felt it, recognized it-- but for all his struggling and jerking in the cuffs, there had been nothing he could do. Ardyn was as unavoidable and certain as a storm before him now. Prompto's scream had echoed off the metal walls, and cut off as he'd slumped, unconscious in his bonds.

He did not know how long ago that had been. He could not tell whether the room he found himself in now was the same one from a different angle, or a different place altogether. Reality came trickling back in bursts and snatches, between the bruising aches inside his bones and the way his head throbbed and his ribs protested every breath.

Every time he'd woken up for what felt like weeks now he'd been cold. Perhaps he should have gotten used to it by now. He wasn't.

This time, however, in his bleary assessment of his sorry physical state, Prompto realized the metal against his back was chilling his bare skin. The position he was in was nearly the same as the one he'd been forced into before, arms out to either side and bound, but this time he was flat, staring up and up at the dark ceiling-- and stripped from the waist up.

The cuffs were just as sturdy as they'd been before.