On her second day on the island, Faye Yardley found herself wandering alone again.
Some people, it seems, are just destined to have ill-fated encounters. And just like that, she ran into the red-haired fatty and his two cronies again.
Leading them was a man dressed head-to-toe in black, a little over five-foot-seven, with hair so long it covered his eyes.
The three of them formed a circle, cornering her at an intersection.
Faye Yardley smiled at them. "Good dogs don't block the path. Move."
"You've got guts. But I'm afraid you won't be leaving here today."
The moment Faye Yardley raised her hand, a silver pistol appeared in it, its dark muzzle pointed at the man in black. "Are you sure?"
"A common pistol like that won't get you out of here alive."
The man was clearly confident in his abilities.
The most unremarkable of the three waved his hand, and Faye Yardley felt the space around her change.
"Thirty seconds."
