The Hawk pushed her out of the tent, knife point digging into the back of Anji’s neck. Anji growled and wrenched away, and to her surprise the Hawk let her go. They stared at each other for a heartbeat, and in that gaze Anji realized how truly cornered she was. The Hawk had done this—all of this—a thousand times. She’d likely tied dozens of criminals to the tether around her ankle. She’d marched scores of thieves and rapists and degenerates to the gallows. Why should Anji be any different?

She looked away from those searing green eyes. The Hawk stepped into the clearing, slipping the knife back into its sheath. She set her hands on her narrow hips and peered around the camp, as though surveying for any other trouble Anji had gotten into while she was asleep.

Was she even sleeping though? Anji thought. What if she was awake this whole time? Did she know I would run away?

“We’re making for the coast,” said the Hawk. She blinked at the sun, raising a palm toward the horizon with one eye closed. “Now that you’ve gotten escape out of your head you should get some rest before we—”

Anji shrieked and swung the spoon for the tender spot where the Hawk’s neck met her shoulder. She didn’t need a knife or a sword or a bow. She was sober now, and more than a match for this old woman. The Hawk had gotten the slip on her, gotten lucky finding Anji drunk and underfed in some no-name town. Everyone had a lucky break, and it was this old woman’s turn, simple as that. The Hawk would take the blow and crumple at Anji’s feet.

Only the blow didn’t land. The woman snaked away like molten metal, sidestepping and spinning in a graceful motion that made her look as if she were dancing underwater. Anji barely had time to register her footwork before she felt a searing pain, heard the hollow jolt of her skull being rattled. She held a hand to her already-broken nose as her ass smashed into the hard earth. The spoon clattered against a smattering of chipped rocks. Her only weapon—her only hope.

Someone was hammering a nail into her nose. Through the tears flooding her eyes she could make out the shape of the Hawk bending down, the light from the risen sun flaring at her back. Anji felt a hand on her shoulder and jerked away.

“You’re slow,” the Hawk said, “and sloppy.” She backed up a step, arms crossed. “A spoon? You wanted to kill me with a spoon?”

Anji growled and scrambled to her feet, blinking tears from her eyes. She could still fight with her hands, manacled or not, could still smash that maddeningly stoic face to bits if she could just—