Her right forearm throbbed painfully, and she pressed the bottom of her tunic against the wound to stop the bleeding. Drawing a ragged breath, she sat down and cradled her injured arm. The building was silent, with no signs of anyone, friendly or unfriendly, passing by.

Her breathing slowed, but the horror stayed in her chest. It wasn’t just the attack. Her nightmares were getting worse, the emotions becoming more vivid each time. The violence and bloodlust clung to her, try as she might to erase them.

Kyra lifted a corner of the cloth to inspect her wound. The bleeding had not completely stopped, but it had slowed. Her hand was curled in an unnaturally tight fist. She tried to spread her fingers, but they barely twitched.

Alarmed now, Kyra tried again. Had the knife cut some tendons? That wouldn’t explain the almost painful muscle spasms that now immobilized her entire forearm. Kyra jumped to her feet. The room spun around her and she put her hand to her mouth to keep from vomiting. Spreading paralysis and nausea—she had heard of this at the Guild. No wonder her attacker had left. The poison would do the rest of his work for him.

Fighting down panic, she crossed to the cell door. If she banged on the door, would a passing guard hear? As Kyra drew breath to shout for help, she saw a faint light lining the edge of the door. In his haste to escape, the assassin hadn’t closed it properly. She tugged experimentally on the handle. The door didn’t budge, but the padlock on the other side was fastened poorly. She might be able to tease it open.

Her eyes fell on her bowl and spoon from dinner. The back of the spoon might work. She slid the handle through the opening. Although her mind was fuzzy, her hand knew what to do. The door swung open and she stumbled out into the hallway, silently thanking Flick for all those times they’d tried to outdo each other with their lock picks.

The corridor was lined with doors leading to similar cells, all closed. It was strangely quiet, and there was no sign of the man who had tried to kill her. Kyra crept up a spiral staircase at the end of the hallway, only to duck back at the red flash of a uniform. But as her heartbeat slowed, she realized that here also, it was overly quiet. There were no footsteps, no movement. She peered around the corner again. A guard lay on the ground, unnaturally still. Kyra gritted her teeth and inched closer, looking only at his belt to avoid triggering her nausea. Her hands brushed his waist as she took the key ring. His body was still warm.