Celine woke in a too-bright room with a thudding pain in her head, which matched the stabbing ache in her shoulder where Gelmon had stabbed her, pinning her to the asphalt. Squinting, she looked around. She was in some sort of storage room, she supposed. The walls were papered over, but there were boxes stacked high around her, and she was lying on a broken couch.
She spun toward the foreign, unknown voice, and realized the mask she’d left the house with last night was gone. Her hand flew up to her eyes.
“That ship has sailed, kid.”