The arrow flew in a slow-motion arc, rain beading on its carbon shaft, and punched through the rifle's receiver. The weapon sparked and died. The mercenary stared at his ruined gun, then at her.

In the center of the cavern, a pedestal. On it, a mirror.

She was already gone, sliding down a moss-slicked embankment. The 3D camera swooped behind her, a single, unbroken shot worthy of a prestige action film. She hit the bottom, rolled, and came up with an arrow nocked in her recurve bow. A gift from her father's old collection. Silent. Deadly.

He pointed. Not at the cliffs. At the ground .

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