Dexmon Drakenfell had been knocked unconscious exactly four times in his life. Twice in training. Once by his father's fist. Once by Gavriel, which he'd never admit to.
He didn't go under gently.
Whatever hit him, hit him like a door kicked off its hinges, and on the other side was someone else's life.
The world inverted.
He didn't fall into her memories so much as her memories swallowed him whole.
A crowd. Hundreds of people, packed into a cobblestone square framed by stone buildings draped in Viremont banners.
"By order of Lord Viremont, the slave known as Silverveil is hereby sentenced to forty lashes for her crime. Let every collar in this square remember what freedom costs. You run, you will be caught. There is no mercy."
Dex's blood ran cold.
Then he heard it. The crack of leather on skin. Pain lanced through his own back in tandem. Followed by a sound that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
A little girl screamed.
