She's outside the wall when she wakes up, wearing some of the clothes that she and Steph brought back from their trip. No backpack. No weapons. Not even her knife. She remembers dreaming, vaguely, of painfully bright lights, but that's it. There's no way she sleepwalked through those front gates.

Ellie scrambles onto all fours, peering up toward the wall through the increasing cover of rain. Her heart kicks against her ribs, and there's an autumn chill in the way her clothes cling to her skin.

Upright. Moving forward in a crouch, quiet as a mouse.

Please, please let someone be on the wall or at the gate.

Otherwise, she might be a little screwed.