#the pier they were all standing on simply did not load. everyone was standing several feet above water just like jesus did

[v01d-ch1ld]

Tears Reflected Through Broken Mirrors

Triggers: abuse

Lying on the floor of her cell, Rebecca was wasting away for the fifth straight day with no food. She deserved it she supposed. She was let out of the straightjacket for less than one minute and in that time, she found a scalpel and stabbed her father in the shoulder with it. He went full villain on her, which was almost a complete 360 from how he had been treating her lately. The electroshock “therapy” went almost twice as long as usual. She was then jacketed again and thrown into her cell. From then on she had her food, bathroom, and exercise privileges were taken away. Her feet were shackled together and she was lying on her back for almost a week. She was hydrated forcefully and left to stew in her own wastes.

In a dazed and barely conscious state, she noticed the sound of the door opening. Her eyes slowly opened, and she looked hazily at the Joker standing there in his full glory, Harley standing behind him.

“Are you ready to play nice now, honey?” Joker said in that trademark twisted way. Rebecca nodded slowly and she was picked up almost gently by her father. “I hate to see you like this, pumpkin, but like any father, I had to punish your disobedience. Do you promise not to hurt daddy again?”

“Yes daddy,” her voice croaked. That was another thing. She was forced to call him daddy or she got hurt more. She began coughing as soon as the jacket was removed. Harley picked her up and helped support her so she could stand. She fell to the floor again.

“Aww, too weak to walk?” Harley mocked her. She hated Rebecca with everything she had. Becca got better treatment from the Joker than she ever did.

“Harley! Don’t you dare speak to her that way!” Joker roared at her and slapped her to the floor. Rebecca smiled. As horrible a situation as this was, she was still higher on the totem pole. Harley glared. “Now get up and bathe her!”

With those parting words, Joker stormed out.

“I know you hate me and that’s fine, but I would help you if you were in the same situation. I know it’s been a while since you had the urge to follow basic human decency, but I promise it won’t kill you.” Rebecca manages after she wets her lips a few times. She smiled. Bullying Harley was her only source of happiness these days. The only reason she did so in the first place is because of how the bitch treated her in the first place. Honestly, she felt sorry for the ex-doctor.

“Shut the fuck up you worthless bitch.” Harley spat on her and dragged her to the door by her hair before picking her up off the floor and helping her to the bathroom. She dumped the weak twenty-one-year-old into the bath and turned the shower on her and threw a bar of soap at her. It hit Rebecca in the side of her head. She didn’t flinch. She simply stripped herself nude and began to wash herself. Harley glared at her until she left.

Rebecca was left with her thoughts. She no longer knew how long she had been there. She had spent the better part of her time unconscious and recuperating from the torture that her father put her through. She began crying. Sobs racked her small form to the bone. She has lost a lot of weight since she had been captured and you could almost see her spine. She cried herself into a numbness that overtook her and gave her some sense of peace. There was an outfit sitting on the sink for her. She got out and dried off with the cloth that was left next to the tub. She looked at the outfit. A purple sweatshirt and some dark green leggings. She put them on and walked shakily out of the room, carding her hands through her wet hair. She followed the noise of her father’s yelling to a different room than the ones she had been in previously. It was decorated like a lounge, it had a poker table, several couches, a fridge, CCTVs of the whole building and another for actual cable. Her father was in the middle of kicking the shit out of Harley when Rebecca walked in.

“HOW DARE YOU LEAVE HER ALONE! SHE STILL HAS A MIND TO ESCAPE YOU, WORTHLESS HARLOT!” Joker yelled at her. Harley cried on the floor moaning in pain. Joker was smiling with near orgasmic glee.  

“Boss! She’s right at the door!” one of the lackeys smoking in the corner informed. Rebecca looked at the scene in front of her with no expression. Tilting her head to the right, she shrugged and sat on the couch like a good little girl.

“Hey, pumpkin! How was your bath?” Joker schmoozed. Rebecca shrugged. Tucking her legs into her hoodie she balled herself up on the couch. She didn’t know what was going to happen next but she knew it was going to be horrible.

“Well, I suppose your throat is still sore from the last treatment. Anyways, today is a special day. Daddy is having some friends over to come look at you. Some of them are going to be giving you some gifts of theirs. Isn’t that exciting?” Joker sing-songed the end.

“Yes, Daddy,” Rebecca deadpanned, her voice completely hollow. She didn’t care what happened to her anymore. She just wanted to die.

Two body guards walked in and behind them strode Batman’s entire rogues gallery. It was horrifying. She has seen the all on the news before but in person they made her want to throw up and run. Bane was in front and looked at her predatorially.

“So, this the kid, Joker?” That was Two Face. Never has she seen that many scars at once. She shivered as he, too began to appraise her.

“She looks like she could use some help, and someone with a sense of fashion.” Poison Ivy. She looked at her with sorry eyes. Was that sympathy?

“No kidding.” Catwoman, why was she here? She is known to be affiliated with the Bat. Are they fighting right now?

“She looks so scared, good job Joker.” Scarecrow. Surprise, surprise.

“She needs medical attention.” Mr. Freeze. Why would he care?

“She needs some meat on her bones,” Deadshot, he has a daughter so that must be why he even said anything.

“Enough! We came here because we each owe the fucking clown a favor and we are going to do what we came for, so we can leave!” Penguin, always the most civilized one.

“Ladies and gents, I am proud to introduce you to my daughter, Rebecca. Pumpkin say hi to Daddy’s friends.” Joker introduced her in the most dramatic fashion. Of course, that’s his whole schtick.

Rebecca popped her head out of the hoodie and whimpered a quick “hi” and went back to hiding her face. Ivy and Catwoman looked at her with a slightly softer look than the boys did but they still posed a threat. And in this state, she can’t fight anyone. Not even after Dick taught her some basic techniques before college. She shivered at what they were all capable of.

“Oh, relax pumpkin they aren’t going to hurt you. We have a code and those who break it are severely punished. They can’t touch you without my say so.” Joker stroked her back and she tried to move away from him only to fall on the floor.

“I haven’t got all day Joker. You tell us what you want from us.” Bane finally said in a voice like gravel. That was almost as terrifying as her dad’s voice when he was yelling. A back thought. Disconnected. Her brain was putting thoughts together like a broken jigsaw.

“Well, I made her malleable, so I want you to mold her skills. I will take care of her personality, and soon she will be my little princess.” Joker smirked. “So, I say that Freeze and Ivy make her more flexible and resistant to damage, Bane enhances her strength, Catwoman teaches her agility and some hand to hand, Deadshot teaches her how to shoot with precision, Penguin teaches her to think like us, Scarecrow teaches her how to strike fear, Two Face gets her started with how to get henchmen, and I make her more like me. Deal?”

“Deal, but only if you let me buy her some necessities, the poor girl needs better clothes, and some stuff of her own,” Ivy said. Ever the feminist, she wasn’t going to stand for the unethical treatment of another woman.

“Alright, any other demands?” Joker glared around the room. Now that is the look that terrifies everyone. It’s true what they say, when villains want to terrify each other, they tell Joker stories.

A chorus of no’s take the room in a misma of voices that drive the fear of God into normal men.

“Alright! It’s settled! We’ll get started right away! I am so gla-“Joker is cut off by one of the windows breaking. In bursts the Batman alone. The villains run in all directions and manage to get out shooting behind them. They were wasting their bullets though, Batman wasn’t interested. He came for the Joker.

“Batsy, Batsy, Batsy, now why would you scare all my friends away? All we were doing is planning the future. What’s so wrong about that?” Joker puts a look of not so innocence on his face. Batman isn’t amused.

“I came for the girl,” Batman says taking out a Batarang. Did he really come for Becca? Is this happening or is this a dream?

“Batman, you are forgetting one little thing. That I always have a plan. If you take her then the consequences will be dire.” Joker hums. Of course. “Poor Jim.” A sigh.

“What did you do?” Batman sounds tired. Like a parent whose child has thrown their fifth temper tantrum that day.

“Police Commissioner Gordon is in a bit of a tight spot right now. As is his little girl.” Joker stalks around the Batman with grandiose steps. Almost like a waltz, Rebecca thinks.

“You’re bluffing.”

“You want proof?” Joker took out a tape recorder, pressed a button, and screams filled the air. Batman backed away glaring and put the Batarang away.

“Where?” Batman demanded.

“Warehouses by the pier, have a nice trip!” Joker giggled. Batman left after that. The only possibility of rescue gone.

“OK everyone we have to move! This place is compromised.” Joker said with a slightly less joyful look on his face. Rebecca, some weapons, some equipment, money, and clothes were loaded into three armored vans and they left.

Part 5: http://deepdarkvoidchild.tumblr.com/post/178836194677/the-bright-white-light-the-cool-night-breeze

@nxttime @dcuniversefanatic @dcdweeb @ravennightingaleandavatempus

[dergonageloser]

The days Hawke spent in forced bedrest were long and dull. Even the books she’d bullied her new guard into fetching —Peige MacGill’Onaidh, what a wonderful name—became a chore to read. Not that it wasn’t a chore in the first place, given that the most interesting of the bunch was the History of Antivan Wines. Fenris might’ve liked that one.

Hawke sighed to herself. Even now, when she could limp around with a hastily-made crutch, she could only think about Fenris. Where was he now, she wondered. Was he hungry? Had he gotten enough sleep? The bitter cold of Ferelden suited him ill, and the constant dampness of the cold ground even more so. While Hawke herself hadn’t felt Ferelden’s chill in some time, the southern winds that tasted of mountains felt to her like she’d taken her first breath in years. But for Fenris, child of the Seheron jungles, the cold leeched his strength and stole the air from his lungs.

She looked across the frozen pond from where she sat upon the rotting pier. Her fingers played along the rough lines of her crutch.

The bed they shared was far too small for two people. But, now, the empty space seemed to swallow her like a cold bath. Bean, at least, made up some of the warmth Fenris had taken with him. But it’s not like Bean could wrap his massive paws around her as they slept, or stroke her hair when he thinks she’s asleep.

Five days, it’s been, and Hawke had already started pining like a maiden and wondering if her husband had enough blankets.

An eager barking drew her attention to Bean, who now slid across the ice with a pup-like glee. He lost his balance, and all four paws flew into the air with a yelp. He shook his head, tail still wagging, and looked back towards Hawke. His tail thumped harder as he let out a bark.

“Absolutely not,” Hawke told him, resting her chin in her hand. “If I fall, I’ll have Serah Adan on my arse. And he’s hardly even a healer. Anders would—”

Hawke clamped her mouth shut as soon as she realized what she’d said. She swallowed back the bitter lump that had been hanging around in her throat the past few days.

Damn him. Over three years since she’d cast him from her life and he could still put a damper on her day.

Hawke shook her head. Her day was already damp. She needn’t let him bother her now.

Her thigh tensed, and a dull throb rippled from the wound. Hawke grimaced and squeezed her hands into fists. It had finally stopped bleeding, but the pain lingered. It wasn’t until after the Kirkwall Incident that she realized how much she’d taken Anders for granted. He was an arse, a fuckwit, and a few shades of spiritually unstable. But no one could ever say he wasn’t the best healer in the Free Marches. Scrapes and bruises lasted minutes under his care, and injuries that normally took weeks to heal were gone within an hour.

And before him, she’d had Bethany. Before Bethany, she’d had their father.

Now, it was just Hawke and her shitty healing spell. She let her hand hover above the wound, brows pulling together in a squint as she focused her magic in her palm. It crackled once, twice. So easily could lightning and fire spark from her fingers, yet it took all of her willpower to turn her magic into something more soothing.

A few careful breaths, and her hand glowed a faint blue. The muscles in her thigh didn’t magically knit together, but the worst of the pain faded, and her body relaxed once more.

Bean, unaware of her inner turmoil, rolled onto his back and wiggled about. His feet kicked to the sky and his tail slapped against the ice as though he were but two years old. Hawke sighed and rested her chin on her palm. “I suppose it’s been a while since you’ve seen ice,” she said. “Kirkwall only ever had muddy slush. Did you miss Ferelden?”

Bean sneezed. His tongue lolled out from his mouth as his lips pulled back into a goofy mabari grin. His tail thumped even harder.

Hawke turned her head to look across the blankets of snow, piling atop the trees like icing. Crisp was the sky, and sharp the wind that brushed through her hair.

When she and Fenris had crossed into Ferelden the first time, and her eyes beheld the vast pine forests and the great mountains far in the distance, she’d turned away to hide the swarm of emotions pushing through. Fenris had surely noticed, as he’d placed a hand on her back to gently guide her away from the docks.

The last of the Amell line, of the Hawke legacy, and she dared return home.

Perhaps, Hawke had thought, perhaps this was her punishment.

A weight on her leg, and Hawke rested her hand on the mabari head that lay there. His feet shifted on the ice, sliding away from him, but he stubbornly held steady.

“Good boy,” Hawke said, scratching behind his ear.

A whisper of boots on the wood behind her. She turned her head, and there approached Leliana, nodding her head in a brief greeting to Peige, who stood guard on the bank. Her feet almost glided across the pier, rivaling even Fenris’ grace.

Hawke turned back to the pond. “I’ve already turned in my report on Corypheus and the Temple of Dumat and what have you.” She leaned back on her hands. “If you want a more detailed version, I’m sure Varric has his lying around somewhere.”

A chuckle, like wind chimes. “That is not what I’m here,” Leliana said, standing next to her. She paused, barely long enough for Hawke to notice. “May I?”

Hawke shrugged and scooted over to make room. Leliana crouched down, letting her legs dangle over the ice.

“Firstly,” Leliana said as she looked out across the pond. “I would like to apologize for the… poor impression I gave you.” She idly fiddled with the hem of her cloak. “I wanted to see what kind of person the Champion of Kirkwall really was.”

Hawke squinted at her, unsure at first what she was talking about. There were several impressions Hawke could think of. Then, she blinked, the memory of the late-night meeting in the Chantry fluttering to mind, when Fenris had yet to wake up and Hawke had been even more short-tempered than usual.

“So you intentionally pressed at my weak spots?” Hawke asked, narrowing her eyes.

Leliana nodded. “More like, I was determining what your weak spots are," she said. "That Fenris is yours speaks quite highly of you." She leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. "It’s a little strange to me now, that among proud Ferelden, basic manipulation is considered bad form,” she said. “But when you’ve played the Game as long as I have, it’s merely a survival tactic.” She folded her hands and looked at Hawke. “Still, I apologize.”

Hawke looked away, towards the snowcapped mountains. The glare of the harsh white hurt her eyes. She wasn’t entirely faultless, as her metaphorical hackles were always spring-loaded, like a complex, dwarven trap. Spikes and all. And figures of authority almost always made it worse. Something about her rebellious nature, as her mother would say. It’s entirely possible that Hawke was simply… easily threatened.

But she wouldn’t tell Leliana that.

“Don’t suppose I could ask you to not manipulate me, could I?” Hawke said.

“You could,” Leliana replied. “And I’d try not to. But sometimes it can be beneficial. A commander picks the words that best rallies the troops, after all.”

Hawke hummed. “Then let’s just tack on a sign that says, ‘Manipulate at own risk’.”

Leliana laughed. “I’ll remember to pass the word on to Josephine.”

“Much appreciated.”

A yelp drew Hawke’s attention back to the pond, where Bean had once again flopped to his side. He shook his head and pawed at his ear. Alas, it wasn’t enough to stop him, for barely a heartbeat passed before he carefully got back on all fours.

Hawke watched him play, the corners of her lips twitching. She could almost imagine he was a decade younger, playing with her siblings as they scraped across ice with their handmade skates. Carver had all the elegance of a newborn hart, and he frequently found his feet flying from under him. He had been Bean’s main source of amusement in these moments. Bethany wasn’t much better, truth be told, but at least she could skate backwards for a solid five seconds.

The familiar squeeze in her chest appeared like a friend you only tolerated, but Hawke was surprised to find that it didn’t hurt nearly as much as it once did.

Even more of a surprise, Hawke noticed with a touch of suspicion, was that Leliana still sat next to her.

Hawke suppressed a sigh. “Why else are you here?”

A smile touched Leliana’s cheeks, but faded as her brow pinched just a little. She reached into a pack resting on her hip and withdrew something. Hawke leaned closer, frowning when she recognized the arrow that had pierced her thigh. The wound in question throbbed, and she tightened her fist over it.

“We were able to locate the smith that made this,” Leliana spoke, turning the arrow over in her hands. “Varric was correct, there are only a few that make this specific kind of arrow these days. It’s cheap, a little unorthodox, but effective.” Leliana nodded to her wound. “As you’ve discovered for yourself.”

Hawke’s lips quirked downward. “Alright, so how does that help us? Can the smith remember everyone he sells to?”

A loud thump drew Hawke’s eye for a moment, where Bean was wriggling across the ice like an overjoyed worm. A couple of villagers lingering near the shore pointed at him, their quiet laughter bouncing along the ice.

“There are a few possibilities as to who is behind all this,” Leliana said. “Enemy of the Champion, random bandit, rogue templar—” she held out a hand, bending a finger for each point. “Talking to the blacksmith might help narrow it down a little.”

Hawke slid her jaw to the side. Bean had gotten back to his feet and was trotting to the shore towards the villagers. He bowed in a play gesture, rump wiggling high in the air, though his front paws slid out from under him again. Still, his tail whipped back and forth furiously. The villagers gave him a few claps and tossed him bits of their lunch.

“What will you do,” Hawke asked. “When you figure out who they are?”

Leliana didn’t reply immediately, which was answer enough. More laughter from the shore carried across the pond as the villagers tried to get Bean to catch each toss. Despite his unstable footing, Bean performed admirably, jumping up and snatching the food out of the air.

When Leliana finally spoke, she said only, “We’ll gift them the regards of the Inquisition.”

She really shouldn’t be pushing herself just yet, but Hawke found that she was quickly tiring of Haven. Much too cramped together. Kirkwall had been as well, but its size made up for it. And before that, her family lived on farms with sizeable plots of land—cheap land, but land nonetheless. You had to plan a whole day around actually visiting neighbors.

So here Hawke was, putting space between herself and the eyes of Haven by going on a walk in the forest. A poor, less-than-thoughtful idea on a few fronts. Firstly, there were many, many roots and rocks to trip over—something she’d already achieved at least twice by now. And then, of course—

“If you’re injured or killed by another bandit,” Peige grumbled behind Hawke. “I’ll tell Lady Cassandra this ‘walk’ was your foolish idea.”

Hawke huffed without looking back. “And you wouldn’t be lying, of course,” she said cheerily, knocking a rock out of the way with the butt of her staff. “But be honest, you hardly tried to stop me, a temporary cripple.”

The response was swift and cutting. “’D’ruther fight off bandits than endure your whining.”

Hawke snickered. Varric must have picked Peige as her guard, if this was the sort of back talk she'd be getting. There was something about strong swordsmen—well, swords-women—that made her feel at home. Like she was going to be nagged about noise complaints and destroyed property any moment.

Damn, Hawke missed Aveline.

She paused to lean against a tree for a moment, pretending to adjust the straps holding her bandages together. Really, she just needed a breath. Her last dose of an elfroot poultice had been some time ago. “Well, are you surprised at all?” she asked Peige. “Pretty sure there’s a book about my adventures of foolish endeavors. And yet people are still disappointed.”

Up ahead, Bean buried his nose in a clump of snow, shoveling it around in search of something. He raised his head, and Hawke giggled behind her hand at the snow frosting his muzzle.

“You must not have read it,” Peige replied. She scanned the forest around them as Hawke gathered herself back up. “Varric did well painting you a mighty hero.”

This, Hawke knew. She’d read the earlier versions of his manuscript. Even now she still had trouble deciding if she liked it.

“A reader of his, hm?” Hawke said. “And what are your thoughts?”

Peige didn’t look at her, still searching between the distant trees. “Admittedly, it’s not his best work.”

That startled a laugh out of Hawke.

“I’d imagine not,” she managed, her lips forming a crooked smile. “Everyone prefers the happy endings.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hawke noticed Peige turn her head in her direction. Hawke decided she wasn’t interested in whatever expression she made. Instead, she pushed herself off the tree, patting Bean on the head as she passed.

Some time later, when the sun had just started sinking towards the horizon, Hawke picked the barest rock she could see and carefully lowered herself down. The entirety of her thigh ached. She brushed her fingers across the bandages, letting a small amount of healing magic seep into the wound.

Peige leaned against a tree, watching Bean stick his nose in some bushes. “We should head back soon,” she said, though her tone suggested it wasn’t so much of a we should as a we will. Hawke wanted to argue, but the thought of propping her leg up on pillows and taking a long doze prodded the back of her mind and she found herself, for once, in agreement.

“Fine,” she replied. She reached into her pack for her water pouch. “I reserve the right to be carried.”

“Denied.”

“Hmph, fair enough.”

Before the mouth of the canteen touched her lips, however, Hawke’s eyes flitted towards movement among the trees. She squinted, lowering the pouch. Bean’s ears twitched, and he lifted his nose to the air, a growl crawling up his throat.

Two soldiers, then another a ways behind them, rushed through the snow-laden underbrush. Hawke scanned the forest, searching. Two, maybe three more soldiers further to the west.

“Ser Peige?” Hawke spoke, bracing her staff into the ground to heave herself up. “In your experience, what does a group of hurried soldiers tell you?”

Peige also had her eyes on her comrades, her hand drifting toward her sword reflexively, brow pinched under her helmet. “Nothing good, my lady.”

Hawke nodded. “My thoughts as well,” she said, pushing from her heel and taking careful strides in the direction of the soldiers.

Peige caught on quickly. “We really shouldn’t—”

“Doing it anyway!”

Before Peige could stop her, Hawke was already picking her way through the trees, with Bean brushing past her legs to lead the way. He let out a few warning barks, just to let the soldiers know he was coming. Hawke tried to make out what they were gawking at, uneasily wiping their brows and pointing at something above eye level. Peige’s heavy footfall was close behind her.

Finally, Hawke pushed past the soldiers, and her stomach fell when she looked up.

“Shit,” she whispered, her hand moving to her mouth.

Strung up in a tree, with bloodied ropes cutting through the skin of his wrists and ankles, was an elf. Blood dripped from his broken nose, from cuts along his arms, neck and torso, forming a dark red stain in the snow below him. There was hardly an uninjured inch of him, from what Hawke could see.

Most alarmingly, his hair was white.

This was not Fenris, she told her heart as it considered bursting from her chest in a fit of panic. There weren’t any markings carved into his skin, and his jaw was much weaker. That didn’t mean it was easy to cast aside the image tearing into her mind. If she squinted, it could resemble him—

Hawke shook her head and turned back to the soldiers. “Do any of you know this man?” she asked, careful to keep her voice steady. She might not have the authoritative bark that Aveline possessed, but people still seemed to snap to attention when she spoke at a certain pitch. Honestly, it was all in the diaphragm.

A mumbling chorus of no’s and shaking heads was the response she got. Still, most of the soldiers were looking at her now. A sigh broke past Hawke’s lips, and she turned to step closer to the elf.

No markings at all, not even Dalish ones. And though the clothes were ripped and stained with blood, they spoke of a commoner, and his worn boots of a farmer. But the Harvest hadn’t been that long ago, so a thriving farmer wouldn’t be as skinny as he was now. At least, in Hawke’s past experience of farming, he would’ve had at least another month or two before the bounties of his crops ran out.

Peige stepped up beside her. “He looks to be a refugee, my lady,” she murmured.

Somehow, that just made it worse.

“He came here to escape bloodshed,” Hawke said. “Oh the irony—”

Hawke stopped short, her heart jumping in her throat. She leaned in, stretched her fingers as close to the man’s mouth as she could. One, two, three heartbeats of silence.

Then, her fingers warmed, just enough.

Hawke whirled around with curses on her tongue. “You blasted fools didn’t even check if he was breathing?!” She gestured sharply at them. “Get him down, now! And you—!” she pointed to one as the rest rushed to the cut the elf’s bindings. “Go find Adan, tell him he has a new patient.” He nodded and broke into a sprint towards the village.

The rest of the soldiers, Peige included, had already managed to cut the ropes and were carefully lowering the elf to the ground. Hawke approached, scanning his body to note each injury. No missing limbs, a good start. No noticeable punctures or gashes around his vital organs. Even the many cuts looked like they’d been strategically placed where he wouldn’t bleed out all at once. Clearly, whoever was behind this wanted the man to endure a long, painful death.

Hawke picked her way through the soldiers—a few of them already making emergency patches—to kneel by his head. His face had been beaten senselessly. It was broken and swollen in so many places, it was doubtful any friends or family would recognize him at first glance—

She paused, her eyes darting to the specks and splashes of white decorating his face and ears. She hadn’t noticed them before. His hair—unnaturally stiff and cracked. She gently took a lock between her fingers. Dry crumbs of white came loose.

“Paint?” Peige echoed Hawke’s thoughts as she looked on.

Hawke nodded, her blood running cold as numb realization budded in her mind.

This wasn’t a random attack. This was a statement.

Someone was after Fenris.