Jason woke with cold creeping through his fingers and toes, realizing he must have fallen asleep while listening to Aleksey. Pale light filtered into the dungeon, enough to tell him he’d slept for several hours.

  Still dazed, it took him a moment to notice Aleksey was gone.

  The cell door slid open.

  Guards dragged Aleksey back inside and threw him onto the floor. He caught Jason’s stunned look and answered it with a cunning smile—despite the bruises spreading across his body.

  As they shoved him in, Aleksey laughed. The guards grunted in irritation and left.

  Only then did the smile fade, pain tightening his expression.

  Aleksey waited until the footsteps receded, then motioned Jason closer.

  He nodded toward the reinforced door at the end of the corridor.

  “That door,” he said quietly. “We use it as shield. Sergei carries it. But first, we must release hinges.”

  The image of the hook on the interrogation table flashed through Jason’s mind.

  “I can make something for that,” Jason said. “But I need the hook from the interrogation room.”

  Aleksey’s eyes gleamed.

  “Niko can steal anything,” he replied. “Master of sleight of hand.”

  Jason allowed himself a small smirk. A real plan—one that made sense—was forming.

  He looked around the cells. Most of them were battered, bruised, but still able to walk.

  All except Aleksandr.

  Aleksey followed Jason’s gaze and leaned closer to the bars.

  “He stays.”

  Jason stiffened.

  “Why?”

  “He is why we are here,” Aleksey said evenly. “He leaked our location to save himself. He does not come with us.”

  Jason felt the instinctive pull to save everyone—but rationally, he understood. Even if they wanted to carry Aleksandr, the man couldn’t walk on his own.

  Aleksey’s voice dropped lower.

  “Remember the plan. When it is dark, step one: open cells. Step two: unhinge door. Step three: block guards from guard room with door. Step four: secure control room at entrance. Niko steals keycard from interrogator. Final step—escape. Sergei blocks main gate.”

  “Do you know where we are?” Jason asked. “Can we escape on foot?”

  Aleksey shook his head.

  “Vindarion’s ship is outside. We escape with that.”

  Jason nodded. It sounded solid—but an image of the spaceport flickered through his mind.

  Aleksey noted. “A lesson from a general: be ready to improvise. No plan is failproof.”

  He understood the words. He had lived them.

  The moment shattered as guards arrived, shoving metal trays of gray mush into each cell.

  Lunch.

  It tasted like nothing—thick, heavy, barely enough to quiet the hunger. They ate anyway.

  Jason glanced to his right. Aleksandr lay motionless, chest rising and falling faintly.

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  Something twisted inside him.

  Maybe it wasn’t about Aleksandr. Maybe it was about himself—about the failures this place kept dragging back to the surface.

  Jason finished eating quickly.

  Then Vindarion entered.

  He stopped before Jason’s cell and looked down at him.

  “I need to relieve some stress.”

  The routine followed—kicks, hands, chains. Jason was dragged into the interrogation room and hoisted against the wall. This time, Vindarion dismissed the guards, leaving them alone.

  “We had visitors today,” Vindarion said calmly, pacing past the table of tools. “Mercenaries. From the Den Guild in Dalkion.”

  He picked up a tool. Jason braced himself.

  “They came to negotiate your release,” Vindarion continued, almost amused. “Did they truly think I would let you go?”

  He stepped closer.

  “They were mistaken.”

  The blows came.

  Fifteen minutes blurred into something shapeless. Jason’s mind drifted back to Ironwood, to Ashar and Friederick, to rare moments of laughter with Vincent and Max at the spaceport.

  The memories slowed everything. The pain dulled. Time stretched.

  Then a heavy strike to his side shattered the illusion—replacing it with the image of bodies piled at his feet.

  “Your body is resilient,” Vindarion said between heavy breaths. “Most break much sooner.”

  He set the tool down and summoned the guards.

  Jason was dragged back to his cell and thrown inside.

  He pushed himself upright slowly and leaned against the wall. The struggle wasn’t physical now—it was internal. The memories kept returning.

  He looked at Aleksandr again.

  The feeling remained. He could not accept it.

  Vindarion passed by moments later, hands clean, smoothing his hair—already reshaping himself into a noble once more. He didn’t even glance at Jason. Whatever he’d needed was done.

  The doors sealed. Silence settled.

  “You have thorn in mind,” Aleksey said softly. “As long as thorn remains, you cannot accept who you are—or what you must do.”

  Jason sat with the words.

  Being a mercenary had been survival. A job. His body was trained—but his mind had never been hardened like a soldier’s.

  If he wanted to grow stronger, he would have to let go.

  The interrogator returned, flanked by guards. They stopped at Aleksey’s cell. Weapons came up. The door opened.

  Niko was dragged out.

  Aleksey watched him go. Just before Niko vanished down the corridor, they locked eyes.

  Niko smirked.

  Aleksey gave a small nod.

  “He will steal your hook now,” Aleksey said quietly.

  Aleksey surveyed the cells lining the corridor. Other prisoners waited there—bruised, battered, but still standing. He met their gazes one by one and gave a single nod.

  Determination flared in their eyes.

  The trust of soldiers toward a general, Jason realized.

  Nearly an hour passed.

  Then the door burst open.

  Guards dragged Niko back down the corridor and threw him into his cell. He hit the floor hard, coughing as the door slammed shut behind him.

  The guards turned and headed for the heavy door leading up. One reached to his side, frowned, then patted his pockets more urgently.

  “Damn it… not again,” he muttered. He glanced at the other guard. “I forgot my keycard.”

  The second guard sighed loudly and rolled his eyes.

  “Idiot.”

  He pulled out his own keycard, unlocked the door, and continued arguing as they stepped through. The door closed behind them with a heavy clang.

  Aleksey watched them go, a slow smirk forming.

  Niko rolled onto his back and produced a keycard from beneath his shirt. Then, with a bit more effort, he reached into the lining of his ragged trousers and pulled out a metal hook—the same one that had rested on the interrogation table.

  “See?” Aleksey said mildly. “Master of sleight of hand.”

  Jason stared, impressed despite himself.

  “Won’t they get suspicious after losing a keycard?”

  Aleksey’s smirk widened.

  “Strategy. That guard is forgetful. We have been taking small things from him for months—then leaving other objects behind. Tools in wrong places. Cards near doors. Always enough that it looks like his mistake.”

  Jason’s eyes widened slightly.

  “He believes he loses things,” Aleksey continued. “The others believe it too. Now they do not question it. They only get angry at him.”

  Jason let out a quiet, baffled breath.

  “How long have you been planning this?”

  Aleksey looked at him, just a little proud.

  “Only a few months.”