The two new “customers” to the bar set off every alarm in Corva’s mind. Every nerve in her body tells her to run. To get out of there. To escape and evade, the same as she’s been doing ever since Avó helped her escape Fareburne. She’s not a fighter. Not like this kid, Jack, seems to think. She doesn’t even fully remember the fight he keeps telling her about. All she has are flashes. The only reason she fought in the first place was because that small-headed bounty hunter and his team had her cornered.

Remembering Tretch, she gives a second look to these two new arrivals. They can’t be after her, can they? No. Their gear is more like that of scavengers, road mercs. These are the kinds of mercs who spend the bulk of their time looting corpses and raiding nomad camps. They’re tough, but they’re no bounty hunters.

Then why won’t they stop looking at me?

“Gentlemen!” Jack claps his hands together. The sound snaps Corva out of her thoughts and echoes through the empty bar. Jack doesn’t seem to notice. “What can I offer you?”

The road mercs completely ignore Jack as they cross from the front door. They spread out a few paces from each other and approach her spot at the bar.

They’re not blocking the door, though. She could make a run for it. Get out of the bar and just keep going. Her travel pack is stashed just outside of town. She’d made it a point to take a detour during her supply run to check on it. Amazingly, even after four days, the pack was still there, undisturbed.

She almost brought the thing back to the bar with her, but the advice Avó gave—“Take what you need, stow the rest”—has become an ingrained habit after all these years. It’s a good thing, too. From the look of these mercs, hitting the road again might be her best option.

However, she doesn’t move. Sure, part of it is fear, but her questions are really what have a lock on her. The two road mercs close in, surrounding her from a few steps away. Were those flashes of memories real? Maybe this Jack kid is right. Maybe she can fight. Maybe—

The mercs attack. Now’s not the time to get lost in thought. She’s vaguely aware of Jack yelling something at the mercs, but she can’t be distracted by that. She has to focus. The first merc to charge is the thinner one, the one with the smile that doesn’t fit the sadness and anger in his eyes. Cackling like a wild dog, he rushes in. His head is down and his arms are spread wide, like a child pretending to be a bird.

He’s fast, but Corva manages to sidestep out of reach—and crash right into the chest of the other merc. He’s about the same size as the merc with the weird smile, but thicker, hairier, more deliberate. His big, meaty hands lock on her upper arms and squeeze. A wave of panic rolls up Corva’s spine as he looks down at her. She can’t move at all, can barely struggle.

He grunts through his nose, almost as if disappointed. The hot air rolls out from his nostrils, washing her face in a sick odor that smells like smoke and old shoes. She coughs, but before she can turn away, the hairy merc swings his head forward. His forehead collides with hers, just above her eyebrows.

Corva’s vision blurs and she feels her body go limp.