Lara may not have the same, soft girl she'd been before the island, but neither was any more foolish. As soon as the cannon rang out and the race was on, she was off her pedestal headed away from the great scrum of bodies.

To hell with that madness. She had not come this far, had not escaped that godforsaken island, to be trampled here.

She found her way into a long abandoned kitchen, the sounds of the fighting distant - reduces to muffled screams and dust drifting from overhead as she rifled through doors and cabinets. With quick, efficient movement of nimble hands she searched for anything that might be of use.

Probably too much to hope that some forgetful chef let his knives behind...