The men are back... Azula ignores the pain in her scraped wrists. Down below, only separated from her by a ceiling of rough planks, the wailing and pleading of the girls who failed to free themselves can be heard. Like a hunted animal, Azula crawls to the farthest corner of the attic, making herself as small as possible and pressing her hands against her ears. It's not enough to shut out the death cries. They cut through her soul and threaten to extinguish the last glimmer of hope that she managed to keep alive in her dreams.