That solitary shot sealed the deal for the hapless guard, poorly aimed as it was. As the shuriken flies, there's a soft whump from the right side of the thicket.

Whatever crippling damage Miho's star inflicts, there is no scream of pain to accompany it. Just a body, now useless, crumpling into the wet earth. Rain mixes with blood, forming a delicate river of pink trickling away from a small hole—center of the forehead, just above the bridge of the nose.

Goldy berates herself for hesitating and lunges for Alanna's arm to ensure that she doesn't shoot as well. Her revolver is unsilenced.