For a heartbeat, nothing moved. The world held its breath, suspended in a vacuum of frozen time.

  Then the shockwave arrived.

  Thick, choking dust erupted outward, glittering in the dying torchlight. The far wall of the block collapsed inward, the masonry disintegrating into a spray of stone splinters and dust. The shockwave rolled through the pens, a physical weight that punched the air from lungs and knocked slaves off their feet. Bodies slammed into iron bars with the dull thud of flesh hitting metal. Screams tore loose from throats.. a chorus of high-pitched noise that vibrated in the marrow of Arvey's bones.

  Arvey hit the ground hard, shoulder first. The impact drove the oxygen from his chest in a sharp wheeze. White-hot pain flared down his arm, radiating from the joint. He rolled on instinct, his cheek scraping against the grit of the floor, coughing as pulverized stone filled his mouth. His wrists burned from old sores and fresh friction, then the pressure vanished.

  He pushed up and felt a sudden lightness. No tether dragged between his arms. No iron bit into his skin. He looked down and saw bare wrists, raw and red, with no metal left on him. “Free..,” Arvey muttered, muscles already coiled as he felt the air pull toward the breach in the wall.

  “Move!” Bordo roared.

  The Ogrin’s voice was a physical force. Arvey pushed up from the filth, his palms slipping on the grime-slicked stone. Bordo threw his massive weight against the bent bars of their cell. Metal groaned as the Ogrin wrenched a vertical rail loose, the stone socket at the floor crumbling into gray powder. He ripped the iron free and swung it once, the metal whistling through the rising smoke.

  “That’ll do,” Bordo growled, his jaw set so hard his tusks seemed to vibrate.

  The sound of the explosion was replaced by a more disciplined noise. Heavy boots thundered down the corridor, the rhythmic, synchronized strike of iron-shod soles.

  “Guards!” a prisoner screamed from the shadows of the next block, the cry ending in a wet, gurgling choke.

  Rask came first. He burst through the thickening smoke, his face a mask of panicked authority. He saw Arvey standing, and his hand flew to the baton at his belt. “You—!”

  Arvey exploded forward. Every week of starvation and every hour of calculated hatred fueled the movement. He lunged, driving his knee upward into Rask’s gut. The air left Rask in a wet grunt. The guard folded, his baton clattering to the stones and sliding into a puddle of stagnant runoff.

  “How does it feel, Rask?” Arvey asked. His voice was a low, cold rasp. “No keys. No baton. No one to hide behind.”

  Rask tried to reach for a concealed dagger, his fingers fumbling at his waist, but Bordo was already there. The iron bar came down in a brutal, efficient arc. It slammed into Rask’s shoulder with a sickening crack. Bone gave way. Rask dropped into the dust, clutching a limb that no longer obeyed him.

  Arvey didn’t look back to see if the man would live. “Now!”

  They ran into the heart of the chaos.

  The corridor was a nightmare of heat and lung-burning smoke. The air was thick with the scent of spilled oil and burning hair. Prisoners poured from shattered cells like water from a burst dam. Arvey watched a man trip on a patch of fresh, dark blood, a dozen sets of feet trampled over him, pressing him into the grit. Another prisoner lunged for Bordo’s iron bar, his hands reaching for the weapon. Without breaking stride, Bordo slammed the butt of the rail into the man’s face. Teeth scattered across the stone, and the body dropped into the shadows.

  A guard emerged from the side, his spear leveled at Arvey's chest. Arvey pivoted, the spear-tip whistling past his ribs close enough to snag his tunic. He caught the man's wrist, his fingers digging into pressure points. He twisted until the joint popped with a muffled thud.

  “Drop it,” Arvey hissed into the man’s ear.

  The guard’s knees buckled. Arvey drove his elbow down into the man’s exposed throat. He felt the cartilage of the windpipe give way with a sickening crunch. The guard hit the floor, clutching his neck as his face turned a bruised shade of purple.

  Ahead, the path narrowed. A second guard, better armored and carrying a heavy mace, stepped out to block them. Bordo used his shoulder as a battering ram, the mass of the Ogrin slamming into the man's chest. The iron bar followed, smashing into the guard’s knee and folding the leg backward. As the man fell, a second, overhead swing caved in his helmet with a dull, metallic clank. Bordo barreled through the gap, his heavy breathing sounding like a bellows.

  “Left!” Bordo barked, his ears twitching.

  Arvey veered sharply, the soles of his boots skidding on the slick floor. Heat licked at his back, a sudden, searing intensity that made the hair on his neck curl. A guard with glowing, oily orange eyes thrust a bare hand forward. Flame erupted from the man's palm, a violent, pressurized burst of energy that scorched the masonry white and sent a rain of molten sparks from the ceiling.

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  “Fire!” Bordo roared, ducking his head and pulling his massive shoulders inward.

  They burst through a side passage and skidded to a halt. A barricade of overturned carts and splintered crates blocked the way, the wood smoldering from the heat.

  “Shit,” Bordo growled, the iron bar trembling in his hand.

  Three guards held the choke point, their shields locked edge-to-edge. Spears thrust through the gaps, probing the smoke for flesh. Behind them stood the guard with the fire aspect, his arms wreathed in crawling flames. As a slave tried to rush the line, the guard met him with a concentrated jet of fire. The slave collapsed into a blackened, twitching heap that was kicked aside by the guards.

  Arvey snatched up a length of heavy, loose chain from a wall bracket. He hurled it low along the ground. The chain skidded across the grit, rattling, before snapping tight around a guard’s ankle. Arvey yanked with every muscle in his back. The man crashed down, his shield falling out of alignment.

  Bordo surged.

  The fire-aspect moved in a sweeping arc. A wave of flame washed over Bordo’s side as the Ogrin broke through the heat. A raw, guttural bellow of agony tore from Bordo's throat as the fire bit deep into his shoulder. The air saturated with the stench of seared flesh.

  Bordo drove through the pain, his momentum carrying him into the center of the line. The iron bar came down. Shields shattered into jagged splinters. Bone cracked. Bordo plowed into the line, crushing one guard while Arvey slid through the chaos. Arvey came up inside the formation, his knee driving into a guard’s lower spine, sending the man into a heap.

  The fire guard tried to pull back, his hands blazing, but Arvey was already there. He lashed the stolen chain around the man’s burning wrist and yanked hard, grounding the magic. Bordo finished it.. one brutal, horizontal swing that caved in the guard’s ribs and snuffed the flames out mid-burst.

  The barricade broke.

  They tore through the smoking wreckage and slammed through a final heavy door, bursting into the outer yard.

  The cold night air hit Arvey like a slap. He sucked it in, his lungs burning from the transition. High above, bells began to ring across the city, heavy, dissonant tones. The sound rolled over the rooftops and down into the lightless streets.

  Behind them, the prison was a living, roaring entity. Shouts of command vied with the frantic whistles of the overseers. From the kennels, the baying of hounds and the growls of unleashed beasts echoed against the stone walls.

  Bordo staggered, his breath coming in ragged, wet gasps. He clamped his good hand over his blackened shoulder, where the skin was charred and weeping. The smell of the burn clung to him like smoke. He snarled through his tusks, his eyes bloodshot, but he kept his feet moving.

  “Don’t slow,” Arvey said, his voice flat. He grabbed Bordo’s good arm, hauling him forward. “Pain later. Run now.”

  They sprinted across the open yard just as a flare burst overhead, bathing the stone in harsh white light. Shadows scattered. A crossbow bolt slammed into the dirt where Arvey’s foot had been a fraction of a second earlier.

  “Lights!” a voice screamed from the high battlements. “Target the Ogrin!”

  They cut hard into a narrow alleyway, the entrance so tight Bordo had to turn his shoulders to fit. Rotten crates exploded under their weight. Bordo clipped the rough stone wall, a growl of pain escaping him as the friction tore at his fresh burns. A burst of flame hurled from the alley entrance singed the hair on Arvey's neck.

  They ducked into a dead-end nook, pressing their backs against the freezing stone. Arvey held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. He counted the breaths of the passing search party. One. Two. Three. Four. The sound of the iron-shod boots faded into the distance.

  "Go!"

  They ran again, their movements labored as the adrenaline began to bleed away. They weaved through a maze of hanging fishing nets and stacked barrels. They slipped on patches of fish slime and wet, rotting rope. The air changed—the dry, metallic scent of the prison replaced by brine, rot, and the smell of woodsmoke. The docks were close.

  Bordo huffed, his pace slowing. “That burn… it’s deep, Arvey. I can feel the bone.”

  “You’ll live,” Arvey said. He kept his eyes on the horizon, searching for masts. “Unless you plan on catching fire again. I’m not carrying you.”

  “Not on the schedule,” Bordo rasped.

  They slipped into a half-collapsed shed at the very edge of the water. The wood was salt-pitted and sagging. Inside, the air was thick, reeking of mildew and salt-crusted nets. Bordo slumped against the back wall, his legs finally giving out. He bared his teeth in a grimace as he finally looked down at the damage to his shoulder. In the moonlight filtering through the slats, the burn glistened—a jagged, ruined patch of blackened meat.

  “Hell of a night,” Bordo wheezed.

  Arvey sank onto a stack of old crates, his hands beginning to shake. His wrists were torn raw, the blood drying in dark, tacky streaks. For a long minute, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the rhythmic slap of the waves against the pier and the distant, muffled shouts of guards. Footsteps passed on the main thoroughfare, then faded. Silence returned.

  Bordo broke it with a dry, rattling chuckle. “Next time you say ‘run,’ Arvey… remind me that people will be throwing fire. I would have brought a shield.”

  Arvey exhaled, leaning his head back against the damp, moldy wood. “You kept moving. In this world, that’s the only thing that gets you a tomorrow.”

  Bordo rolled his good shoulder and hissed as the movement tugged on the burned tissue. “Didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”

  Arvey leaned toward a gap in the wooden slats. He began to analyze. He measured the shadows on the dark water, calculating the patrol routes of the harbor skiffs. He watched the way the tide pulled at the pilings. He scanned the silhouettes of the ships, looking for a specific rigging, a lack of lights.

  “We wait here for a while,” Arvey said, his voice flat and practical. “We let the first wave of guards exhaust themselves. Then we find a ship.”

  Bordo snorted. “The Bloody Baron? You really think a man like that takes stowaways?”

  “Maybe,” Arvey said, his fingers tracing the jagged edge of his broken shackles. “Men like that don't care who you are. They care about what you can do.”

  “And if he won't take us? If he turns us in for the bounty?”

  “Then we burn another bridge,” Arvey said. “And we keep moving until there’s nothing left to burn.”