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“Sofia, don’t move,” the voice said again. “It’s Flor. You need to stay still. I don’t know if anything is broken, but I can’t?—”

The words choked off in a small sob and Sofia moved automatically, wanting to comfort, but nausea roiled through her and she ended up dry-heaving instead. A hand patted her shoulder softly and she finally managed to look up into Flor’s pale face.

Fox hadn’t brought her to her cell in the basement where his father had first thrown her. She was with the others.

Flor leaned against the same bars as Sofia, but on the other side, in her own personal cell. Her hair was matted with blood, red on red, and her face gaunt, as if they’d been captured for weeks instead of days. But she was here. And she was?—

“You’re alive,” Sofia’s voice scraped over the words. “I didn’t know?—”

Flor let out a soft huff of air, almost a laugh. “I should be saying the same of you. Micael practically fainted when he saw the soldier carrying you in.”

“Micael,” Sofia said, slotting the name on the list of those who had made it out. And then her stomach twisted. “Javi? I saw his mom. Is he?—?”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Flor was already shaking her head. “He wasn’t in the cenote when they invaded. He was looking for you, actually.”

“Hopefully, he doesn’t find me.”

“Carmen is okay, too. She broke her wrist in the process of trying to protect Viola, but you should have seen the punch she threw.”

Sofia smiled, lips cracking and she tasted fresh blood. “Dia?” She almost didn’t ask, not wanting to know if they’d been too late and when Flor shook her head, she regretted the question.

“But there was no record of her execution, either. We’re hoping she’s being kept elsewhere.”

Flor went through the list of the other survivors, and Sofia kept her breathing steady. It hurt too much to do more.

A rough hand brushed against her forearm, one of the few places she wasn’t bruised and sore, and she realized she had closed her eyes. She looked back up to where Flor was sitting, pressed against the bars.

“We thought you were dead. We assumed he had found a way to force you to free him and then just killed you.”

“Why didn’t you all leave? Why stay in the cenote after he escaped?”

“We left, at first. We packed up and moved into a secondary cenote a few miles east and Micael kept an eye on the base. But after a week of nothing, he assumed you were both dead—that he’d never made it back to Suvi.”

Sofia almost laughed. He wasn’t completely wrong.

“There is a lot to catch up on,” she said, even as another sharp ache vibrated up through her back and hip.

“Before that, I should look at your injuries.”

Sofia shook her head. “I already had a healer.”

“One oftheirhealers,” she said, clearly not taking Sofia’s no as an answer. “Now, shirt off.”

“Trying to get me naked? I thought we tried this before. It didn’t work.”

Flor didn’t crack a smile and Sofia eventually complied. The shirt was sticky with blood and hard to separate from her skin in places. Flor poked and prodded where she could through the bars.

In the end, Sofia didn’t think she had more than a broken rib or two. Her legs and hips seemed unbroken despite the deep bruises along them. Her injuries were nothing to shrug off, but they wouldn’t stop her from running if she needed to.

When she needed to.

“I’m mostly worried about the open cuts on your back,” Flor said, apparently content with her assessment at last. Sofia pulled her tunic back on to cover herself. Something fell from the side pocket, pinging against the stone. A small round tin had been tucked into it without her noticing. She picked it up and gently opened the lid, assessing the white powder inside.

“What is that?” Flor asked, straining to look through the bars.

“I’m not sure.” She pressed a finger into the powder, bringing it to her nose and then her mouth.

“Dragon scales, you did not just put a mysterious power in your mouth.”