The pain was instantaneous, blinding, and absolute. It felt as if a rusted iron blade was being violently twisted directly into her chest. A strangled, breathless gasp ripped from her throat as she dangled there for a split second, her entire body weight pulling agonizingly against her fractured, bound core. Black spots danced wildly across her vision.
The heavy crunch of boots grew louder, rounding the corner into the dead end. Rough, predatory voices murmured in the dark—local thugs complaining about the cold and looking for an easy mark.
Running on nothing but pure, unadulterated survival instinct, Heena bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper. She hooked her elbows over the top of the rough stone, kicked her leg up, and violently hauled her battered body over the edge.
She rolled silently over the clay tiles just as the dim, flickering beam of a cheap oil lantern swept across the dead end below.
