A few hours after Erik had left and supper had been served, Connor lay in his hammock, blankets piled high on top of him and obscuring him from view just as he’d had them before.

  An hour ago, the ship had started rolling with increasing intensity, the wood creaked and groaned. But the ship righted itself and seemed in no real danger. Still, it felt like a storm had hit.

  That was an unfortunate stroke of luck to be sure, and Connor considered delaying his plans. But, for how long? And how much longer did he have before the Syndicate plunged their fingers into his mind?

  For all he knew, this would be the last night before they made landfall and he lost his shot.

  Rowing through a stormy sea would be dangerous and far from enjoyable, but delaying was too great a risk. Storm or no storm, he had to move forward like he’d planned.

  Besides, it didn’t feel too intense.

  It was hot and uncomfortable beneath so many blankets and sweat clung to his skin. But it had been a useful pattern to establish. One that might buy him precious time should they look in on him tomorrow morning.

  His eyes were closed, his breathing even and calm as he counted seconds… minutes… and hours since supper.

  No lights could be shone where the denizens of the ocean could see them, and as such sailing was essentially only done during daylight hours or with a spectacular amount of moonlight. Unless you wanted your crew falling over each other in the darkness and running into gods only knew what.

  It was customary for sailors to sleep early and wake in the pre-dawn light to get to work straight away. With only a limited watch during the night to keep a lookout for dangers.

  As such, it would be ideal for escape.

  58… 59… 60… that’s two hours. All but the night watch should be sleeping deeply by now, Connor thought.

  He would’ve liked to wait longer, to make sure any restless folk slipped into the land of dreams, but he needed to be out of sight before the pre-dawn light or they’d catch him with ease.

  His eyes snapped open, and he slipped out from under the covers, taking a moment to adjust them until it looked like he was still resting there. Still sulking as Erik had called it.

  With any luck, they’d think nothing of it when he was unresponsive tomorrow morning.

  He wiped at the sweat coating his forehead with the back of his hand and gathered up a bunch of the glowing magical orbs. He wrapped them in a small blanket, ensuring that no light shone through. He then slipped the bundle down the front of his shirt.

  It came to rest at his waist, over his stomach, kept in place by his tucked-in shirt. And there it would wait until he reached the deck. He felt a momentary flash of guilt over what he planned to do with them but pushed it down. The Syndicate had stolen everything from him and now sought to steal even his mind. They deserved no less than what he had planned.

  Kept in place by another towel, was a loose thread of golden fabric almost as thin as a hair that he’d painstakingly worked free from an embroidered pillow for this very day. He slipped the thread into his pocket.

  With everything in place, he strode to the cell door. While Erik had believed him to be sulking, Connor had in fact been resting all he could during the day and learning how to break down the bar of his cell better during the night. All building toward this night. This moment.

  He’d tried many different things with his alchemy, and it felt like he’d grown stronger as a result of the exhaustive use of his energies. But, last night, he’d had a breakthrough.

  He’d been trying to break down the dark iron like he would when making a potion, but that was entirely unnecessary. Not to mention extremely difficult with no circle or notes from his codex and the powerful magic reinforcing the structure.

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  But then he’d realized he didn’t need to break it down nearly so much. He wasn’t making a potion after all. Fine dust or entire flakes of metal, what did it matter so long as it was no longer in his way?

  He held his hand up to the bolt that kept the cell door locked in place.

  The red lightning of his alchemy power arced from his fingertips and into the bolt in the lock. It snapped and crackled hungrily as he chewed through the bolt at incredible speed. Flakes and chunks of metal broke off the bolt and fell to his feet.

  Runes pulsed green as the cell tried to repair itself, but where before it had been unstoppable, it was now barely an annoyance. In fact, he expected it might even prove useful once he was done.

  It was exhausting work tearing through the bolt and he quickly found himself panting. After ten minutes of stripping through the hard metal with his alchemy power, he sheared through the last of it.

  The gate swung open with a high-pitched squeal as its metal hinges protested the movement. He brushed the metal flakes and chunks away from the floor and bars, removing the evidence in seconds, and slipped out of the cell.

  He closed the gate behind him and took out the thread of fabric he’d prepared earlier. He reached through the bars and tied the cell gate closed from behind, using the gate itself to hide the tiny thread of fabric from view. It was hardly thicker than a hair and would easily snap from the slightest pressure, but it worked to hold the cell door in place as the cell’s magic repaired the bolt of the lock and removed all evidence of his work.

  He briefly looked over the cell. Not a single thing was out of place. Should anyone look in on him tomorrow, they would see only a pile of blankets bundled up in his hammock and an immaculate cell door. It ought to look no different than when he’d been in it. Hopefully it would buy him precious time when dawn came.

  He turned away from the cell door as it repaired the metal. A slight smirk pulled at his lips at having the enchantment that had so infuriated him before now serve him in removing the evidence of what he’d done.

  But he was far from done. A thousand challenges awaited him. A thousand chances to slip up and be discovered. He moved over to the door to the room and regained his calm, pushing away all excitement and pride over the ease with which things were going.

  Only calm focus would see him through this night. Celebration could wait until he was far from this ship and the Syndicate’s promised ‘re-education’.

  He crouched down and peered through the keyhole as he got his breath back from his earlier exertion of alchemy power.

  Lanterns lit the empty passageway outside with a soft orange glow as shadows danced wildly to the tune of rolling waves. There were no portholes or windows of course. Nowhere for the light to slip through and attract unwanted attention from any number of horrors within the depths.

  Strangely enough, there seemed to be two cells opposite his one.

  They gave me twice as much space? Why? Why treat me so well when they plan to manipulate my mind regardless? Connor wondered.

  He waited for a moment, just watching through his limited field of view. He pressed his ear to the door and heard nothing. But, with the silencing enchantment suppressing sound, that meant very little.

  Still, he didn’t see anyone and though he had to be cautious, he also needed to move. Every second was precious. If he wasn’t long gone in time, all of this would be for nothing.

  With nobody in sight, Connor got to work on the bolt in the lock of the door. He wore through it faster than the one in the cell gate as it wasn’t as thick or as heavily enchanted.

  Nor did it have a healing enchantment to repair the metal.

  He panted from the exertion of his power, but it was nothing compared to the fine control and stamina required for potion making or of his earlier efforts to heavily refine the metal.

  That and he could swear his alchemy was getting stronger by the day.

  Red lightning snapped and crackled from his fingers as he broke the metal down. Its red light painted him and the door, making his hands look as though they were covered in blood.

  It reminded him of the bundle under his shirt. Connor’s lips hardened into a thin, grim line.

  They deserve far worse… he told himself.

  Still, even with all they’d done to him, he wasn’t looking forward to what he had planned. If it worked, slitting their throats would be a mercy by comparison.

  The ship rocked back and forth with the roll of waves and between the groaning timbers and the sound suppression enchantment, he worried little about anyone hearing his work.

  His red lightning chewed through the rest of the bolt, and Connor inspected it. There was now a thin gap that cut through the bolt of the lock. It should be difficult for anyone to notice unless they were looking for it.

  The door would still look closed, and would no doubt give a satisfying click when unlocked with keys… unless anyone tested it beforehand. He blew and swept away the fragments of metal and scoffed at all his secret hopes and little games.

  He had to be far from here before dawn so none of this should matter. But once they knew a prisoner had escaped they might sail off and look and perhaps these small tricks would keep them confused for long enough to buy him a little extra time.

  Sometimes the smallest details mean the difference between success or failure… and I need every advantage I can get if I’m going to pull this off, he thought.

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