The wind roared like a feral beast, tearing at Erin Volter's hair.
She was falling.
The world was a violent, spinning abyss of bruised violet sky and blinding white snow thousands of feet below. The velocity of her descent dragged the air straight out of her lungs, leaving her gasping on empty, freezing air. The instinctual, primal terror of death clamped around her throat like a vice. Her heart hammered against her ribs so violently it felt as though it would shatter her chest.
Then, mid-fall, the howling gale seemed to drown out. Time dilated into an agonizingly slow crawl, and her mind was abruptly overwhelmed by an influx of erratic, blinding flashes.
They weren't memories. They were vivid, impossible images of a place she had never seen in her life, yet recognized with terrifying certainty.
