Alice knew cold could kill—every New York winter demonstrated that—but now she understood that heat could be far worse. Xavi had followed Conner’s instructions and dropped her in the middle of nowhere dressed in shorts and T-shirt. He’d taken off in a bitter cloud of dust to leave her alone. He was monitoring, but that didn’t make her feel less vulnerable or isolated. The sun was the mouth of a furnace, the molten blast pinning her in place. Baked red earth held together by emaciated shrubs surrounded her; odorless air scorched her throat. The relentless light even smothered sound—her damaged ears offered nothing but a high-pitched ringing.