Someone grabbed her from behind. She screamed, and the sound ricocheted back at her from the walls and the other girls. She went limp, becoming deadweight as Petrel had taught her, and the man grunted at the unexpected burden. Serina drove her elbow into his groin and tried to twist away, but his hands clawed up her body, ripping her shirt, toward her throat. She twisted again and ducked, slashing at his arms with her ragged nails.

Somehow, she managed to get away.

The darkness was heavy as a blanket, filled with the screams of the other girls. Beneath the chaos, if she concentrated, she could hear the man panting. She thought it was just the one; maybe the three had split up.

She backed away, bumping into Tremor, but she wasn’t fast enough. The guard’s hand snaked out and grabbed her arm. She kicked outward, connecting with flesh. He grunted again.

Tremor pushed around Serina and threw her weight at their attacker, sending them both stumbling into the echoing space of the cavern.

Behind her, the screams had stopped, but Maris was sobbing.

Helena murmured, her voice low and urgent.

Serina went after Tremor. The thuds and grunts of the fight were the only guidance she had, until a body flew into her, knocking her to the ground. She struggled, trying to free herself. Was it Tremor who’d fallen on her? Or the guard?

The thought of Nero’s calculating gaze, his hands creeping around her throat—

“Tremor?” Serina whispered shakily.

“Yeah,” the woman murmured. Slowly, the two untangled themselves, moving as quietly as they could. The darkness was a challenge for the guard as well. He couldn’t attack them if he couldn’t find them.

Suddenly, a deep voice filled the black. “You’re all going to die here, flowers. Surely you know that?” Serina recognized Hector’s voice. He let out a cold chuckle. “No one escapes Mount Ruin. No—”

A flash exploded to Serina’s left, followed by the concussion of a gunshot that made her ears ring. A hollow groan, and then a thud.

Hector didn’t speak again.

“Did I get him?” Maris whispered. “I—I aimed toward his voice.… Did I get him? Serina? I—I didn’t hit you, did I?” Her voice rose to a wail.

“I’m here, I’m fine,” Serina mumbled. She scrambled for her flint and crawled across the uneven rock until she found the torch. With shaking hands, she lit the oiled rags.