Her clocked meshed, her senses connected, and reality returned. She was strapped to a heavy wooden chair; a stiff plastic cuff bound her hands behind her while climber’s rope wrapped around her legs. Like a fish snatching a fly, a memory surfaced of another chair, another interview, of her severed hand pumping blood onto a floor. She turned, the world sliding past as if cut free from gravity, to see Xavi bound to another chair, neck blue from the stun-round, face bloodied and swollen as a guard hit him again and again.