Scarlette Briarwood is one of The Gifted. She sees things in her sleep. Even if she doesn't want to.
One explosive night, she witnesses the aftermath of a murder, and the plot of criminal magicians. Reckless and headstrong, she foolishly embarks on the journey of her lifetime.
Waves crashed upon the beach, row after row of lacy ivory fountains, each leaving a different faint mark upon the damp golden sand.
A crimson-haired woman stood by the shore, staring blankly out to sea. There was no boat; there never had been, or was ever going to be. The compass open in her left hand was ignored, every intricate letter lost in the fury of her thoughts.
She had done what they had asked, but there was nothing left for her any longer.
With a snap, she folded the compass into the palm of her hand, and she turned away from the wide sea, away from its calm and hope, but she still kept her face a picture of serenity. Dark eyes surrounded by even darker kohl narrowed, perhaps in vicious frustration, perhaps merely to check her surroundings in acute detail.
Her heavy boots lay deep tracks, and she watched them forming, a flicker of something close to worry splitting through her face, before it became a blank page once again, and she walked on, towards the deep green wood that grew surprisingly close to such a stretch of sand, and away from the clear blue sea.
The woman’s pale left hand (un-gloved, unlike the right) tucked the large gold compass into a pocket of the wide, raven-feather-backed duffel coat she wore; her right hung down still.
Finally, as she reached the tall canopy that started to spread above her, the fire-woman gazed back. She stared, uncaring, down at the trail that lay across the fair sand, a trail which to anybody else would have been an ominous sight; drops of scattered ruby blood always meant trouble.
Especially the type of blood that was dripping from the sword that pointed downwards from her right hand.