They grabbed him before they grabbed her. She knew it, if only by smell. Didn't even have time to find him, after everything went silent and dark, before their scents were all over and his was gone.

And still nothing happened.

She backed up. There had to be a wall here, somewhere. Even if Asuma was gone, there were still walls.

It seemed she'd taken a million steps before she found one.

They were supposed to take her out of here. That was part of it, right? They were supposed to take her out. So how long had it been? Ten seconds? Ten minutes? She pressed back against the wall, trying to bury panic in pain. The whip marks across her back flared, and she focused on that.

The void stole her breath. She reached a hand out, as if maybe she'd feel something, even knowing she wouldn't. Had they forgotten her? Maybe they planned on leaving her down there forever. They could toss Asuma overboard and leave the weapon on. She'd told them she'd probably go insane. Maybe they wanted to see how long it would take.

She spoke. She didn't hear it. She screamed, and didn't hear that, either.

They were going to leave her here. Panic ramped up--

And then she smelled one of the ninja. The same one who'd taken Asuma. Bile, stomach acid--She'd ripped the toes off the other. She was sure her breath was coming too fast. She couldn't tell where he was, just that he was there.

And then he touched her. She stepped into it, reaching out to grab his arm with a shaking hand. He couldn't leave. He couldn't leave.

She felt air, smelled his breath, and thought maybe he was laughing. She growled.

He vanished.

There was no wall--she'd walked away from it, to get to the ninja. It had to be here--right here. She reached, felt nothing, took a step, felt nothing more. What if she was turned around? The ninja could be anywhere. She could be nowhere. She was swimming in tar all over again--

A hand on her shoulder. She flinched and grabbed it. This time, it pushed her forward. Three, four steps. He took her fingers in his hand, brought her arm behind her back, and when she protested--she was sure she said don't--, though she couldn't hear it--he petted her hair.

Rope looped around one wrist. Then the other. He stepped up behind her, and she leaned back into him, away from the nothingness in front. She could smell him. She could feel him, rough cloth against her spine, angering the wounds. He moved, and she yelped--she thought--as her legs were swept out from under her, and she was held cradle-style. Her whole body tensed as they leaped straight up.

Fresh air, salt air, and she felt him walking. He dropped her.

She crashed on the deck, scrambling upright and standing, unsure. Wood beneath her feet. Nothing else at all. She didn't even know where on the deck she was. It lasted a breath, two, long enough for her heartbeat to pick up again--

There was motion. A touch here, cloth brushing there. Never enough for her to define. Fingers on her wrists. And the world came back.

Tsume inhaled, heard it ragged and torn in her throat, and stared at the man with the whip. She was on deck, near the mast. True to his word, most of the sailors were watching. Tsume didn't care over the thundering of her heart. Her body was slick with sweat.

"We were going to leave you blind and deaf, but I think you were serious when you said you'd lose it."

She didn't answer. Her mouth was cottony.

"You get cuddly when you can't see and hear. No wonder your partner likes you."

She swallowed, trying to work up spit, and muttered, "I hate you."

"Ah. But at least you feel something toward me. There's nothing worse than not caring at all." He smiled and gestured behind her. Reluctantly, she turned to look.

One rope hung from the main mast, slack as it looped down around her hands, still tied behind her back.

"If you're naughty, we'll tighten it, and let you hang until your friend is back. Understand?"

She nodded wordlessly. It would dislocate her shoulders, tear the tendons and ligaments. She had no intention of misbehaving anyway.

Whip turned and began to walk away.

"I could use a bathroom," she called, forcing the words past a throat that wanted to close.

"We'll think about it," he called back, and kept walking.