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I squirmed out of my skirt before pulling on a pair of black cargo pants. “I’m sorry. Next time, I will pull you aside, so our conversation is private.”
Daryn smiled. “I love how you assume there will be another... disagreement. I thought parafinai were on the same page most of the time.”
I pulled up the zipper on my pants and refastened my seatbelt. “They are, but people disagree. My parents did. They just didn’t stay mad at each other that long. The bond makes it difficult to stay... opposed, as my mom put it.”
“I am very grateful to your parents. For a lot of things.”
It always hurt a little to think of my famous hunter parents. They sacrificed everything for me. More than I realized until my return to Spirit Falls. “Me too.” We were quiet until Daryn pulled into a small parking lot.
The building looked like an office building, but I felt the prickle of magic as we exited the vehicle and approached. As soon as we passed the glamor shrouding the prison, my eyes roamed over the building.
The prison stood solitary and imposing, surrounded by a sea of barren earth and sparse, twisted trees. It seemed to have been plucked from the pages of a Gothic novel, a brooding and foreboding structure with a history as supernatural as its stones. Vines clung desperately to its outer walls, as if nature itself were trying to soften the harshness of its existence.
As I stepped closer, the heavy wooden doors came into focus. They were worn with age, bearing the scars of countless years of use and abuse. The iron hinges creaked as they swung open. This was a place of secrets, hidden truths, and untold stories, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to become a part of it.
Daryn gave me a reassuring wink as I entered. The interior revealed itself as a stark contrast to the foreboding exterior. While the hallway on the upper floor exuded an eerie quietness, broken only by the distant echoes of hushed conversations and the faint shuffle of footsteps. The low-security cells lined either side, their bars a reminder of the confinement that had become a way of life for those inside.
The walls were painted a faded shade of pale blue, attempting to bring some semblance of tranquility to the otherwise somber surroundings. The dim, flickering fluorescent lights cast long shadows along the corridor, creating an atmosphere that seemed perpetually caught between dawn and dusk. It was a place where time seemed to stand still, as if the world beyond these walls had ceased to exist.
I glanced over at the lone guard stationed at the entrance, his uniform a stark contrast to the drab surroundings. His eyes bore the weariness of countless hours spent in this place, and he nodded in acknowledgment as we passed.
The low-security cells were surprisingly spacious, though the iron bars served as a constant reminder of the lack of freedom. The occupants inside moved about quietly, each lost in their own thoughts and routines. Some read books, others paced the small confines of their cells, while a few sat on their cots, lost in contemplation.
“Where is Cage’s cell?” I asked, as Daryn led me to the stairs.
“The upper floor is for short-term occupants. The permanent residences are below.”
“He was underground? How did he escape?”
He held the door open for me, and I started to descend the stairs. “That is the question. His accomplice would need schematics of this facility and have a working understanding of our security protocols.”
I felt a prickle over my arm as we entered the lower floor. “That and some serious magic. This place is like walking under a lightning storm.”
“Yes. The wards weren’t breached, so someone was awfully crafty and had some serious-level access.”
I pointed to the ceiling. “So, the inmates upstairs are here for minor offenses?”
Daryn nodded. “The most common offense is using magic in mundane areas. That gets a few days in a cell, and they are warned not to do it again. That is usually enough.”
We passed a man who sat in his cell with his back to us. “And these are more serious offenses?”
Daryn nodded. “This floor is reserved for those who won’t get out.” He pointed to the second cell. “This was Cage’s.”
We entered the dimly-lit cell where Cage had made his daring escape. The atmosphere inside was stifling, the air heavy with a sense of desperation and ingenuity.
The cell itself was sparsely furnished, with a single cot pushed against one wall and a rickety wooden desk against another. Thewalls were constructed of rough, weathered stone, bearing the weight of countless stories of confinement and hopelessness. But what drew my attention was the broken stone near the far corner of the room.
It was a jagged hole, roughly the size of a basketball, leading into a tunnel that disappeared into the darkness. Cage’s escape route. The broken stone was evidence of his determination and cunning. He had chipped away at the solid wall, inch by painstaking inch, until he had created a passage to freedom.
As I crouched down to get a closer look, I could see the marks of his efforts etched into the stone. The tunnel itself was barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through, and it was a stark reminder of the lengths to which someone would go to reclaim their freedom.
The tunnel led upward, angling toward an overhead air duct. It was clear that Cage had meticulously planned his escape route, using the duct as a means to move through the prison undetected. The duct itself was a dark, narrow passage, and difficult for a person to navigate.
“He tunneled up to the air duct, but how did he manage this without detection?”
Daryn glanced at the narrow tunnel. “Cipher detected a unique glamor spell. It has Cage’s signature attached to it. The prison monitors the vitals of all its inmates. They never thought he had left his cell. But to have created that signature, you would need inside information on the prison and its security measures.”
“Do you think it is one of his men? Maybe a business partner since we know he was running that import-export business.”
