We only have a few hours left beforedawn. Better hurry.
The arena is still dotted with guards, but in this deepest part of the night, their numbers look sparse, and the part of me still keeping count of each city patrol we’ve come across roars back to life. The east patrols are noticeably missing.
As we approach the arena’s gates, I can tell immediately that many of them have been drinking. Maybe all the chaos from the game and assassination attempt has been too stressful. They laugh and jostle one another, some of them arguing among themselves about who they think fought most impressively and whether or not they will appear in a future game.
I narrow my eyes at that. The key code that Talin had risked everything to give us now burns in my mind. Future game? Not a chance.
Jeran listens quietly as they crack jokes about how Tomm died and whether Pira needed to. I marvel at how he manages to keep his emotions in check; he doesn’t flinch, even when they complain that Aramin moved too slowly when the maze separated him from Adena. I scan the grounds as we walk around the arena, pretending to be lost in our owndrinks and arguments. Some of the soldiers are quieter than others, looking uneasy as their comrades laugh uproariously. As I watch them, they stir awake my other voice.
Maybe they’re like how you once were. Silent. Knowing there is something sickening about the game you’d witnessed. Not strong enough to stop it.
Finally, Jeran nudges me quietly and tilts his head toward one of the arena gates. “Looks like those two patrols have merged into one,” he signs to me in the night.
I look in the same direction as Jeran, and there, I see what he means. Some of the soldiers from one of the gates have left their post to throw bets with the others, all of them sharing food and drink in a small circle as they take a break from their watch.
We wait patiently until it seems like they’re truly lost in their conversation. At the next peal of laughter, we move through the shadows and steal into the cool recesses of the gate’s archway, then into the inner corridor behind the archway and make our way up the pillar again, aiming for the vent.
The halls inside the arena’s prison are quiet, a startling contrast compared with the chaos we witnessed yesterday in the stands. Now there are only the soldiers patrolling the hall, rotating in and out every hour.
From within the air duct, I glance up and down the hall at the tiny mirrors that have been placed at regular intervals along the ceiling, each of them tilted just so in order for the guards to see the entirety of the space.
Jeran and I exchange a short nod in the darkness.
As the guards rotate, the hall falls into a brief silence. We waste no time. When the soldiers leave, Jeran pokes his head out briefly through the vent, then aims a slingshot at one of the mirrors. He shoots.
There’s the faint breaking of glass. He whirls around and does the same to the mirror at the other end of the curving hall.
As he shoots, I break open a filter beside the vent. Weak light illuminates part of the duct. I lower myself down and land with a quiet thud into the hall. Jeran leaps down behind me, so silent I have to glance over my shoulder to make sure he’s escaped.
We don’t have much time before the guards rotate in again. Jeran goes first, stealing close to the holding room where Aramin and Adena had first been kept.
Now we see the lock on the door. At first, it’s unrecognizable to me: a solid, rectangular grid that encircles the door handle and connects to the rest of the wall.
A chill surges down my spine. Is this a different lock? Had they changed it? Did the Federation know we were coming tonight?
But I see a slim line alongside the lock, where a series of small knobs can slide into a pattern. This is where we insert the code that Talin gave us.
The first figure to approach us from inside is Adena. Her dark eyes glint like stone in the night, and despite all she’s been through, all the agony she endured in the arena, I can see the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. She doesn’t speak, of course, not with the guards farther down the hall—but she does lift her hands to sign to me.
“What took you so long?”
I scowl affectionately at her. “We got lost.”
Adena winks at me before turning her gaze to Jeran. The Shields nod at each other, an understanding born from a lifetime sworn to protecting each other blazing in their gazes. Jeran lifts his eyebrows slightly at her, and she shakes her head.
“I’m okay,” she signs to him.
Then Jeran meets Aramin’s gaze inside the cell. I expect to see Jeran’s fingers dance unconsciously to where the weapons are typically strapped at his belt, the gesture he makes whenever he’s thinking about Aramin. But he just stays frozen.
For once, Aramin’s expression is not steel. He looks almost hesitant, as if he’s not sure what to say or how to act. The Firstblade to the Strikers, at a loss for words.
Maybe it’s for the best, because there’s no time for greetings now. As they exchange a silent look, I kneel to the lock and start sliding the knobs carefully.
As I go, I think of my early days as a soldier. The number of prisoners I’d had to keep in their cells. I remember being on the warfront of Basea the day before we invaded Sur Kama, doing a round through a row of makeshift cages where we were keeping several captured Basean soldiers. One of them had been so young, a wide-eyed boy watching me through the bars. I’d stopped to look at him before Danna Wendrove nudged me away.Don’t touch them, he’d said to me.They’re dirty.
I’d listened to him. I’d stepped back from his cage and hurried away, my stomach roiling in shame.
Now I focus on inputting the code. On freeing them.
