First, the ache. A deep, dull throb in her chest where the bullet had punched through.

Then the cold. Stone seeping through her clothes, rope biting into her wrists and ankles.

Last, the smell. Dust and damp and something metallic—blood. Her blood.

Four figures stood in a loose semicircle before her. Dim torchlight flickered across their faces—young, pale, sharp-featured.

One stepped forward. Dark curls, dark eyes, a smirk that didn't reach them.