“I could force it, but the Null-Wards would scream. We’d be swarmed before the lock turned.”
Shit.
A pointy elbow jabs Taliesin in the ribs. “Out of the way, Your growliness. I’ve got this.” London doesn’t take the card. He eyes the gap between the gate and the ceiling—a six-inch crawlspace clogged with rusted piping and jagged wire.
In a movement so fast it makes my vision blur, he launches himself up the bars, rebounds off a pipe, and somehow squeezes his lanky, matted frame through that impossible gap like a cat made of liquid.
A metallicclack-shhhechoes from the other side. The gate swings open.
London stands there, dusting off his rags and grinning. “Automatic release from this side! Always think backward, Kitten. Sometimes that makes you the first to arrive.”
I grin widely as François and Tally scowl. “Good job, London. That was brilliant.”
He gives a bow. “And for my next trick.”
The loon does a standing back tuck—and gets a serious amount of air. I blink off my awe and remember we’re breaking out of a top security prison. No time to be wowed by gymnastics.
Suddenly, my fucking heart decides to freak out again, worse than normal. I turn away and suck in a breath. It’s like a cramp pulling my chest in three. Ugh.
“Aurora? Are you alright?” François hisses, losing some of his usual cool.
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave a hand and paste on my mask.
Just focus on the task ahead, Rory.
The narrow service staircase leads us to the abandoned sick bay. The ward smells of burning rubber, but a faint salt air also tickles my nose. It smells like the coast. It smells like escape.
The vibration of the wards is coming through the floor now—a low, teeth-rattling hum, but the exit at the end of the room draws me like a beacon of hope.
“Wait.” François puts up a hand. “Outside that door, the Null-Wards are at triple strength. If you step through as you are, the feedback will stop your hearts before you take a second breath.”
“So what’s the fucking plan then, Frank?" Tally grunts. I feel him take my hand, his grip almost crushing.
Wump—ppp.
“I am the plan,” François answers. “My body thrives on toxicity. Poison swims in my veins. The Conclave’s finest scientists could not dream that someone like I would ever exist. These wards can’t stop me.”
“That geezer is proper boasty, just saying,” London grumbles in my ear.
“For you to pass,” François continues, his voice uncharacteristically strained. “I must coat you in my shadow so the wards see only a ghost. It will be… unpleasant. The process taxes my reservoir severely. If I fail, I am trapped here with the rest of you.”
Taliesin freezes, his jaw clenching. “Fuck. How do I know you won’t just lock my mind up again and leave me here.”
I look between them. François has done nothing to hurt me since his revelation, and he’s actively dismantling his own life to get us out. Imran, London, and Tally included. I squeeze Tally’s hand. “Do it,” I tell him softly. “I believe him. I’m placing my life in his hands, Tally. Trust my judgment.”
On Tally’s back, Imran lets out a thready gasp, his forehead resting weakly against Tally’s neck. “I just want to see my brother again,” he croaks. “I just want to go home.”
There is a heavy, profound beat of silence as the air hums with the terrifying proximity of the Null-field.
Then, London shrugs his shoulders. “In the Hole, I realized that if you lick the concrete floor long enough, it tastes exactly like salt and vinegar crisps.”
What?
Everyone freezes, staring at the Brit in absolute, stunned silence.
He shrugs again, completely unfazed. “What? Aren’t we sharing right now? I only managed a small packet’s worth, bee-tee-dubs. It’s all about the tongue-endurance and imagination, you see.”
François shudders, a look of profound revulsion crossing his features. “We must do this immediately. Bevan—are you first?”
