Corva lurches upright, screaming and flailing her arms.

Eyes wide and shaky, she snaps her hands to her throat, applying pressure to a wound that doesn’t exist. She doesn’t feel any cut or slice or even an abrasion. She pulls her hands down and stares at them. No blood.

Double-checking, she touches her neck and looks at her hands again. Still clean.

Slowly, she regains composure. Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, she relaxes her shoulders and exhales in relief. She shakes her head, vainly trying to rattle away the fear that sticks to her like a wet rag. She’s in a cold sweat and can feel her lungs desperately trying to slow down. Her whole chest cavity aches like her heart has been trying to punch its way out.

I’ll never get used to dying.

Even as the words sound in her head, she feels her face knit into a scowl. What an odd thing to think. Who would get used to that? And she didn’t think “in a dream.” The thought came out with a conviction that she didn’t expect. It’s almost like she really has been killed by Death in every one of these dreams. But that can’t be right, can it?

Resolving to focus on the present, she looks around and realizes she’s still on the tunnel floor in Cliff City. Jack’s bundled jacket rests where her head had been. A small cloth bundle lies next to it. She grabs the bundle and unwraps the folds.

A sandwich.

She doesn’t wait for her stomach to finish growling. She takes three bites before even starting to chew. Meat and cheese. Gulping down the food in her mouth, she takes her next bite more slowly. Briefly, she smiles at Jack’s awkward sentiment. Perhaps the kid isn’t so bad. Then, suddenly, she comes to a fresh realization.

She looks around and notice that the light in Cliff City isn’t the red-orange mix of dawn. It’s fully in to morning, and there’s no one around.

Filho da puta. That jerk did end up leaving me here alone.