Corva’s eyes snap open to pain pulsing through her body. Her hands, her ribs, her legs. If it doesn’t outright hurt, it aches. Her head throbs. When she sits up, it feels as if it’s doubled in size and weight. Her neck is wrapped in bandages. She runs her fingertips across it. It’s a solid dressing; it’s not choking her, but it’s also not something that will just slip off at the slightest movement. She’ll have to cut it off when she gets out of here, wherever “here” is.

Am I in a different dream? Have I been captured? Who’s holding me? What—

She stops. She’s getting out of control, getting ahead of herself. Se acalma. Take stock.

She looks around the room. It’s dimly lit with a cord of light wrapping the stone walls. A cheap woven rug covers most of the ground in front of her cot. There’s an opening to another room on her left and, on the opposite side, a metal ladder reaches up to a small trapdoor in the ceiling.

Across the room from her, asleep on the floor, is that boy. That little opportunistic jerk. He’s the one that—

Memories hit Corva like muzzle flashes, bursting images one after another. They feel as if they’re her memories, but everything is kind of detached and dreamlike. Was it really her slicing and shooting and striking all those people? She rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands. Now’s not the time for this.

She pulls back the thin, tattered blanket and swings her feet around to the floor. Corva shivers a bit and looks down at herself. Where are my clothes?

Her undergarments are still in place, but she’s got cloth bandages wrapped around her midsection and parts of each leg. She scans the room again. She spots her metal arm bracers and remnants of her travel gear on the floor next to the cot, but there’s no sign of her clothes.

She cuts a suspicious glance at the boy asleep on his bedroll. She should wake him up. Slap him around. Make him tell her what’s going on.

Corva stands up a bit too fast. Overwhelmed with the onslaught of light-headedness, she drops to her knees. She waits a beat and takes a deep breath while her head clears.

It only takes a few seconds for her eyes to focus again. That’s when she notices the small medkit lying on the ground near the boy’s head. There’s medication, ointments, and the same type of bandages that she has wrapped around her wounds.

He shot me. Why take care of me after?

Her mind flails in a sea of questions. She doesn’t need answers, though. She needs to get out. She grabs her arm bracers and puts them on before collecting the rest of her small pile of things. Gingerly, she stands. No light-headedness this time. Grabbing the blanket from the cot, she wraps it around her shoulders as she approaches the door on the far side of the room. She’ll find new clothes later.

The handle to the door is cool to the touch. As quietly as she can, she turns it, testing it.

Great! It’s not locked.

She cringes as the door creaks open and takes a quick look back at the sleeping boy. So far, he hasn’t moved at all or given any sign that he’s waking. Corva turns back and peeks through the doorway.

Crap. A toilet.

She stares at the toilet for a moment, tempted to make use of it. The sight of the modest little room makes her realize just how much she really has to go. How long was I out?

But she can’t risk it. First priority is leaving.

The trapdoor has got to be the way out. She creeps back across the room and up the ladder, careful not to wake the boy. Pushing open the trapdoor, she recognizes the old desk in front of her. It’s the only thing she recognizes, though. Her last memories of this desk are only in flashes. It was much dirtier, surrounded with busted crates and the smell of burned timber. Everything is a lot cleaner now.

The important thing is that now she knows where she is. It’s the storeroom under that bar. Good. One question answered. The kid must live here.

Corva looks back down the ladder at him and the medkit by his head. He’s still a jerk.

She closes the trapdoor and sneaks up the stairway leading to ground level. As she comes to the top step, she can see that the place has been patched up, though there’s still a lot of work to be done before it’s serviceable. A draft of desert cold competes with moonlight to squeeze through the boards that block a gaping hole in the side of the bar.

She’d gone through that hole in the wall; created it with her body. That’s her last solid memory before a patchwork of foggy images. She’d been slipping the same pack of bounty hunters for weeks, but they’d cornered her on the narrow canyon path to this town. There was no choice but to fight. She never expected to survive.

Corva takes a moment to glance back down at herself again. She should look and feel a lot more battered than she does. She’d been caught in a few fights in the ten years since Fareburne, but never against bounty hunters like those. She’d certainly never been punched through a wall before.

Through the filtered light, Corva notices the silhouette of a small figure perched upon the bar. It turns and looks at her, eyes glowing, reflecting dim light from some unknown source. The silhouette raises its hand with an indication to stop moving. The little creature’s tail lifts and twitches with a bit of nervous energy.

“You!” For some reason, Corva’s mind swings to the smell of sweetgrass and explosions. A dream or a memory or a memory of a dream. She can’t quite put her finger on it.

“His name is Zeke.” The voice comes from behind her. “I’m Jack.”

Corva watches as the strange little monkey swings over her and lands on Jack’s shoulder. It peeks around at her from behind his head. She takes a step toward him. “What are you?”

“Me?” Jack is incredulous. “I should be asking you that. I’m not the one who went all batshit crazy and killed almost everyone in my bar.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Images from memories and dreams bombard Corva’s mind to the point where it’s difficult to tell which is which. She looks at Zeke, or at least tries to look at him as he skulks behind Jack. “I know you. I don’t know how or why, but I know you.”

Zeke pokes his head out at this, curiosity apparently getting the better of his caution.

“What do you mean, you ‘know’ Zeke? He’s been a part of this bar for decades. Got photos of him with the old man from when the place opened. And as far as I can tell, you ain’t never stepped foot in here ’til a few days ago.” Jack squints at the girl. “How about we cut to the chase and you tell me why you’re a bounty worth at least nine mercs?”

Corva can’t be distracted by that. Not now. This monkey, how do I know him? Why am I drawn to him? She leans in to see him better.

Jack continues, “Hey! I’m owed some answers here. The least you could do is—”

Corva won’t be derailed. She takes a step closer, reaching out to Zeke. Everything goes dark. An overwhelming shot of energy courses over her body. It’s like an arena full of people are all screaming at her at the same time.

Then, she feels herself collapse.