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xxii<br />
Reyna<br />
THE ANSWER CAME TO HER before she was fully conscious.<br />
The initials on <strong>the</strong> sign at Barrachina: HTK.<br />
‘Not funny,’ Reyna muttered to herself. ‘Not remotely funny.’<br />
Years ago, Lupa had taught her how to sleep lightly, wake up alert and be ready to attack. Now, as<br />
her senses returned, she took stock <strong>of</strong> her situation.<br />
The cloth sack still covered her head, but it didn’t seem to be cinched around her neck. She was<br />
tied to a hard chair – wood, by <strong>the</strong> feel <strong>of</strong> it. Cords were tight against <strong>the</strong> ribs. Her hands were bound<br />
behind her, but her legs were free at <strong>the</strong> ankles.<br />
Ei<strong>the</strong>r her captors were sloppy, or <strong>the</strong>y hadn’t expected her to wake up so quickly.<br />
Reyna wriggled her fingers and toes. Whatever tranquilizer <strong>the</strong>y’d used, <strong>the</strong> effects had worn <strong>of</strong>f.<br />
Somewhere in front <strong>of</strong> her, footsteps echoed down a corridor. The sound got closer. Reyna let her<br />
muscles go slack. She rested her chin against her chest.<br />
A lock clicked. A door creaked open. Judging from <strong>the</strong> acoustics, Reyna was in a small room with<br />
b<strong>rick</strong> or concrete walls: maybe a basement or a cell. One person entered <strong>the</strong> room.<br />
Reyna calculated <strong>the</strong> distance. No more than five feet.<br />
She surged upward, spinning so <strong>the</strong> chair legs smashed against her captor’s body. The force broke<br />
<strong>the</strong> chair. Her captor fell with a pained grunt.<br />
Shouts from <strong>the</strong> corridor. More footsteps.<br />
Reyna shook <strong>the</strong> cloth sack <strong>of</strong>f her head. She dropped into a backward roll, pulling her bound<br />
hands under her legs so her arms were in front <strong>of</strong> her. Her captor – a teen girl in grey camouflage –<br />
lay dazed on <strong>the</strong> floor, a knife at her belt.<br />
Reyna grabbed <strong>the</strong> knife and straddled her, pressing <strong>the</strong> blade against her captor’s throat.<br />
Three more girls crowded <strong>the</strong> doorway. Two drew knives. The third nocked an arrow in her bow.<br />
For a moment, everyone froze.<br />
Her hostage’s carotid artery pulsed under <strong>the</strong> blade. Wisely, <strong>the</strong> girl made no attempt to move.<br />
Reyna ran scenarios on how she could overcome <strong>the</strong> three in <strong>the</strong> doorway. All <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong>m wore grey<br />
camouflage T-shirts, faded black jeans, black athletic shoes and utility belts as if <strong>the</strong>y were going<br />
camping or hiking … or hunting.<br />
‘You’re <strong>the</strong> Hunters <strong>of</strong> Artemis,’ Reyna realized.<br />
‘Take it easy,’ said <strong>the</strong> girl with <strong>the</strong> bow. Her ginger hair was shaved on <strong>the</strong> sides, long on top. She<br />
had <strong>the</strong> build <strong>of</strong> a pr<strong>of</strong>essional wrestler. ‘You’ve got <strong>the</strong> wrong impression.’<br />
The girl on <strong>the</strong> floor exhaled, but Reyna knew that t<strong>rick</strong> – trying to loosen an enemy’s hold. Reyna