““She has until dawn. She’ll show up.” She. That word was the worst thing he’d ever heard. Because there was only one she who would bother to show up for him. One she that he could be used against. “You hurt her,” he said, his voice hoarse from a day without water, “and I’ll rip you apart with my bare hands.” There were thirty of them, half fully armed, and they all turned to him. He bared his teeth, even though his face ached. “You so much as touch her, and I’ll gut you.” One of them—tall, with two swords crossed over his back—approached. Even though his face was obscured, Chaol recognized him by his weapons as one of the men who had beaten him earlier. He stopped just beyond where Chaol’s feet could kick. “Good luck with that,” the man said.””