Nenetl, the cousin of Moctezuma and the daughter of Ahuitzotl, was sleeping in the resistance's camp just outside the city—the mountainous region provided protection and cover from the Spanish. She tossed and turned as a nightmare ensued in her sleep. The sun was high in the sky, casting long shadows across the streets of Tenochtitlan. Nenetl stood on the dusty road, heart pounding in her chest as she watched her once-great cousin Moctezuma stand before his people with head hung low, already defeated. She gripped her hooded cloak tightly, eyes blazing with fury and indignation while remaining hidden among citizens. If the Spaniards knew she was noble, she'd be killed like others—no use to her people dead.

The Spanish commanders on the balcony remained unmoved by the crowd's yelling. Suddenly, Moctezuma was struck in the head by something from the crowd and hit the balcony floor with a thud.

Nenetl woke with a gasp, wiping sweaty palms on her clothing. No time for weakness or mourning. She walked to the prisoner caught snooping around camp—warriors had him tied to a tree. As one prepared to drag a blade across his forearm, Nenetl interrupted.

"No. We need him alive for answers. And perhaps, he could be of use to us." She knelt before him and pulled the cloth gag from his mouth. "Speak stranger. Who are you?"