Freya lay on the cold stone, cheek pressed against the rough surface. Her first clear thought was simple: cover her face. She pulled her forearms up and tried to shield herself, but the flashes kept coming. Voices swelled around her. Reporters called her name. Questions overlapped until they turned into one loud noise that pushed at her ears.
Her hat had fallen. Her mask and sunglasses were gone. Without them, the air felt like it had teeth. Every second, a new burst of light struck her bandaged skin. It made her eyes water. It made her want to disappear into the steps.
She searched for the hat. It lay two steps away, pushed sideways by a shoe. The mask had slid under a microphone stand. The sunglasses sat near a metal rail, one arm bent. She moved her hands in small inches because large
