They entered the living room to find Naomi sitting upright, with one hand braced against the back of the couch, and the other clutching her throat. She looked entirely different from the confident, smirking figure Loren had become accustomed to avoiding. She was pale. That signature blond hair hung limply down her shoulders, dirty and clumped with mud.

“Where…where the hell am I?” she croaked, though Loren wasn’t sure how she managed to speak at all.