Dawn arrived with the enthusiasm of an executioner clocking in for overtime.

Pyra was awake—had been awake most of the night, actually, because sleeping when you knew horrible magical experiments awaited you in the morning turned out to be difficult. Who knew?

Footsteps approached down the corridor. Multiple sets. The particular heavy-booted cadence of guards who expected compliance and had weapons to ensure it.

"Time's up," a guard announced, unlocking her cell door. "All four acquisitions. Preparation chamber. Now."

Pyra's stomach dropped somewhere into her feet and kept going. "What happened to 'a few days'?"

"Schedule changed. Move."

She stood slowly, making a show of compliance while her brain screamed through contingency plans. Malik's extraction was supposed to happen before this. Before they started turning her into whatever those empty-eyed prisoners were.

But Malik wasn't here. The signal hadn't come. And guards were unlocking cells down the corridor, collecting Ranth and Serris and Dorvus for what was undoubtedly going to be a terrible day at the office.

They were led deeper into the facility, past corridors Pyra hadn't seen during evaluations. More laboratories. More equipment that pulsed with eerie light. More evidence that the Silent Hand had been doing this for a while and had gotten disturbingly good at it.

Pyra caught Ranth's eye. He looked calm, but she'd spent enough time cage-adjacent to him to recognize the tension in his jaw. Serris was pale, chain marks still visible on his arms from his arena specialty. Dorvus seemed like he was still half in denial.

None of them tried anything. Yet.

"Stay calm," Pyra whispered. "Malik's coming."

"When?" Serris hissed back.

"Soon. Has to be soon." Because the alternative was unthinkable.

The preparation chamber was exactly as horrifying as she'd imagined.

Large space, circular, with a raised platform at the center. On that platform, an altar-stone slab where something was about to get screwed over in a very literal and unhygienic way.

Along the walls: restraint tables. Currently empty. Soon to be occupied.

"Inside," the guard commanded, gesturing with his sword. "Preparation begins shortly. Cooperate and it'll be easier."

"Define easier," Pyra said, because her mouth had apparently decided self-preservation was optional.

"Easier than the alternative. Inside."

They shuffled in, exchanging tense looks. There weren't any obvious opportunities. Guards blocked the entrance and flanked the room. Too many to overwhelm. Not yet, at least. And not without casualties.

"I thought we had more time," Dorvus muttered, trying and failing to sound casual. "Like, a few more days of observation, maybe."

"We did," Pyra confirmed, her voice pitched low so the guards wouldn't hear. "I don't know what changed."

What they hadn't planned on, in other words. What she might've missed in her optimistic and frankly naive hope that this would all go according to some kind of half-baked schedule. That they'd have time to get out before the proverbial hammer dropped.

And speaking of hammers, two masked Silent Hand mages entered the chamber, flanked by another pair of sword-toting guards.

"New acquisitions ready for integration and attuning," one of the mages said. "Prepare them."

Guards began strapping Ranth to the first table. He didn't resist, but his hands clenched into fists hard enough that knuckles went white.

"Don't suppose there's a chance we could reschedule?" Ranth asked, tone almost conversational despite everything. "I've got a conflict. Possibly with staying human."

One guard laughed. Not kindly. "Funny. Won't be making jokes after the first hour."

They moved toward Pyra next, gesturing her toward the second table.

She calculated odds. Eight guards. Two Silent Hand mages. Herself with weak flames and a hidden knife. Ranth strong but restrained. Dorvus and Serris—what were their skills again? Something about regeneration and chains. That could've been useful if anyone had planned this part.

Even if she fought, even if she somehow won against eight armed guards, the facility had dozens more. And mages. And wards everywhere.

Fighting now meant dying now. Or worse—becoming one of those empty-eyed vessels before Malik even arrived.

Pyra let them strap her wrists to the cold metal, leather restraints biting into skin. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and adrenaline made her vision crisp and painfully aware. The pendant beneath her shirt pressed against her chest, a small warmth in the surrounding cold.

She met Ranth's eyes across the room. Saw him mouth two words: hold on.

"The transformation process involves three stages," the other masked mage began explaining. "First, consciousness fragmentation. Second, essence binding. Third, planar anchoring. The first stage is the most... taxing. However, once essence binding begins, discomfort will be manageable. You'll simply cease being yourself in any meaningful way."

"Neat," Pyra said through clenched teeth. "Can't wait."

Where the hell was Malik?

The researcher reached for the first crystalline device.

A massive boom shook the chamber. Dust rained from the stone ceiling. Shouts erupted from the hallway.

"Attacking from outside." A guard shouted from the doorway. "Intruders!"

Pyra blinked. Then again, just to make sure this wasn't some stress-induced hallucination.

Malik's signal.

About freaking time. Better late to the party than the funeral.

The guards' attention shifted to the commotion in the corridors outside. Shouting, running feet, what sounded suspiciously like spell effects. Whatever was going down out there, it had their captors' full focus.

"Stay with the acquisitions!" one of the Silent Hand mages ordered. "We'll handle the breach!"

Guards hesitated. Four remained inside the preparation chamber, swords drawn.

Pyra tested her restraints. Still secure. The leather wasn't burning easily with her weak flames, and struggling just made the bindings cut deeper.

"Any chance," Ranth said conversationally to the remaining guards, "you'd consider this a good time to find employment elsewhere?"

One guard actually seemed to consider it. The other scowled. "Shut up."

More explosions. Closer. The sounds of actual combat filtering through the chamber's doorway. Someone was fighting their way inside, and judging by the curses and cries from the Silent Hand's forces, the fight wasn't entirely one-sided.

"Look," Pyra said, trying for reasonable despite being strapped to a torture table, "your facility is under attack. Your researchers abandoned you. Pretty sure you're not getting paid enough to die here."

That gave them pause. Just a moment. Enough for uncertainty to creep into their posture.

"She's got a point," Ranth added. "We're not going anywhere. You could just... leave. Tell your bosses we overpowered you. Start a new life somewhere. That's gotta be more tempting than whatever death benefits they're offering."

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For a moment, it seemed like it might work.

Then Serris, apparently having reached his capacity for subtlety, launched into action. Metal clattered—restraints snapped with a sound like cracking bone, and the big fighter swung his arms around with the wreckage dangling from his wrists.

"What the f—"

The first guard went down in a chain-fisted blur before he could even complete a good curse. Serris yanked the chains free of his wrist bindings and threw himself at the next closest, pinning the man in a chokehold.

Dorvus charged from his own table, holding up an arm to intercept a sword swing. Metal bit into flesh, blood spattering across the room—but Dorvus didn't falter, slamming a shoulder into his attacker with a bone-shuddering thud that sent the guard stumbling back.

A crossbow bolt buried itself in Dorvus' thigh.

But Dorvus didn't react except to lunge at that guard next, moving like a man on his fourth beer despite the blood loss. The bolt popped free as muscle closed over it. He backhanded the guard into the chamber's stone wall with a crack of bone against rock. The guard slid down and lay still.

Serris dispatched the last guard, and for a moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing echoing off cold walls. Pyra blinked again at the sight—prisoners turned rescuers, turning the tables on their would-be experimenters in seconds.

"Well," Pyra said from her still-bound position. "I was going to contribute, but okay then."

"Sorry to steal the show." Serris grinned, panting, and moved to unbind her from the restraints. "But sometimes you've just got to go for it, you know?"

"Sure." Pyra rubbed circulation back into her wrists. "Team effort. Let's keep that energy and get the hell out of here."

Dorvus began working on Ranth's bindings. Pyra snagged a discarded sword and crept to the doorway. Shouts and chaos still reverberated from down the corridor. Whatever distraction Malik had created, it was a doozy. Perfect for slipping out the back door unnoticed. They just had to reach it.

"The layout," Ranth said, coming alongside her, eyes hard and focused. "You remember it?"

"Mostly. Head left out of here, follow the bend to the laboratory wing, then right toward the prisoner holding area. After that, it gets fuzzy, but we're looking for a way up." She shrugged. "Guess we improvise the rest. You got a better idea?"

He gave a tight grin. "With the place in an uproar? It'll do. Let's move."

Pyra took point. The pendant beneath her shirt warmed against her skin, her fire guttering to a more manageable strength.

"If you see any of those wards—the patterned ones like stars? Break them." She glanced back at her compatriots. "They're suppressing our abilities. Smash and go."

Ranth nodded. "Breaking things I can do."

Pyra led them down the corridor, away from the sound of fighting and toward what she hoped was a clear route out. They moved quickly, quietly, navigating turns and intersections she recognized more by gut instinct than memory. Every so often, she'd point out one of the magical wards on a wall or ceiling corner, and Ranth or Serris or Dorvus would smash it.

A guard rounded the corner directly ahead of them.

Everyone froze.

The guard stared. They stared back.

"Uh," the guard said intelligently.

Ranth's fist met his face before he could upgrade to actual words. The man crumpled. Serris relieved him of his sword while Pyra listened for reinforcements. None came.

"Good enough," she said. "Next left."

They made it past two more junctions. Pyra felt her flames building. Getting easier to summon and sustain.

Another explosion—closer this time. It rattled the ceiling, dislodging debris that pinged off the floor.

"Your bard's thorough," Ranth commented.

"Starting to think he might be overdoing it," Pyra admitted. "But we'll take the chaos right now."

"Which way?" Serris asked.

Before Pyra could answer, a group burst from a side passage. Four people, armed with a chaotic mix of weapons, led by a familiar figure in traveling clothes with a lute slung across his back.

Malik.

He was bleeding from a cut above his eye, soot-covered, and accompanied by what Pyra could only describe as the most unlikely rescue party she'd ever seen.

Two mercenaries in mismatched armor brandished swords, one man tall and rangy, the other thickset with a braided beard. A mage in a tattered robe clutched an ironwood staff, her gray-streaked hair disheveled and crackling with stray energy. Bringing up the rear, an angular woman in dark leathers crouched low behind a pair of crossbows.

Everyone stared at everyone else for a moment.

"Pyra!" Malik's face split into a grin beneath the smeared ash. "You're alive! And free! That saves time!"

"Not unappreciated, though," the angular woman grumbled, gesturing with a crossbow. "Move. Company."

Boots on stone. Shouts in the distance. Reinforcements incoming, fast and loud.

Pyra glanced at her escape party, and then at Malik's motley crew. Ranth, Serris, and Dorvus all nodded.

"Right. Plan's changed," Pyra said. "Everyone run. Now!"

They bolted down the corridor, ducking through antechambers and side-rooms to throw off pursuit. A trio of guards appeared in front of them.

Two went down to crossbow bolts while Serris and one of the mercenaries engaged the third. Pyra conjured a flame burst that knocked him off his feet long enough for the armored man to dispatch him with a sword stroke.

"Two other groups came in here with us," Malik shouted over the noise. "One's holding the exit. Another's breaking out more prisoners. They should catch up soon."

Another guard tried to block their path. Dorvus barreled into him, ignoring a knife slash to his ribs. Pyra finished the attacker off, and they kept going, ragged breaths loud in the narrow spaces.

Other prisoners joined their growing group—some altered, staring blankly and following because everyone else was moving. Others more aware, grabbing weapons from fallen guards, helping each other stumble toward what they hoped was freedom.

Finally, the exit loomed ahead. Sunlight poured in, bright and blinding after so many hours in the dimness. Pyra's stomach lurched from relief or adrenaline or both. She couldn't tell.

Malik's second rescue party was there, fighting to secure the opening. Bodies scattered the ground, some in the Silent Hand's colors, others in piecemeal gear.

Behind those defenders, a narrow path led away from the complex to surrounding trees and wild terrain.

"Out, everyone out!" Pyra waved her makeshift forces out of the complex, watching as they stumbled past her toward the trees and open air. Some turned to help wounded friends. A few even paused to look back, eyes wide and dazed by the sunlight, as if unsure what to do now.

The rest of the escapees and rescuers reached the exit, gasping and wheezing, leaning on each other.

Malik's third team fell in with them, shouting about more guards coming behind. Dozens of former prisoners streamed out alongside them, some still bearing markings from whatever experiments they'd undergone.

"To the forest!" Malik gestured wildly. "Deeper, away from here!"

Pyra was the last one out. She looked back into the darkness she'd escaped just moments earlier. Listened to the echoing sounds of booted feet and shouted commands somewhere inside. Guards were coming. Mages were probably preparing something nasty too.

Time to go.

She darted out of the complex after the others, sun bright and warm on her skin for the first time in what felt like weeks. Trees loomed around her, and the fresh, cool air hit her lungs. She stumbled, went down on one hand, and pushed herself upright again.

Keep going. Keep moving.

The group kept running. Kept staggering. A few fell, got helped up, or left where they couldn't be. The sounds of pursuit faded behind them as the terrain became steeper, the foliage denser, the shadows beneath the forest canopy darker.

Pyra was just starting to think maybe they'd actually done it, when the first magical detonation shook the ground behind her. She spun around, saw a tree fall toward the group, and instinctively flung herself at the nearest fleeing ex-prisoner.

The tree smashed into others on its way down, sending splinters flying and branches whipping dangerously close. Someone cried out. The thud of its impact shuddered through the soil.

More magic—blue arcs of light and strange, writhing tendrils. Pursuers crashing through brush. Their reprieve had been short.

Pyra lurched back to her feet, helping the prisoner she'd tackled back up. "Go," she urged. "I'll cover you. Tell Malik the same!"

The woman stumbled away, vanishing into the trees.

"Run!" Pyra yelled at the ragged band. "Don't stop. Find high ground. Regroup later. Just go!"

She turned to face the pursuing forces.

Framed by the shattered stumps of fallen trees, figures in black armor stalked forward, blades and spells at the ready. Behind them came mages, their robes billowing despite the lack of wind.

So much for an easy exit.

Fine then. She'd play the distraction while her newfound allies escaped. If things got bad, she could still outrun them despite her exhaustion and muffled power.

With a wave of her hand, she conjured a wall of fire behind her, cutting off any view of her fleeing comrades. The surrounding foliage ignited, creating a smoldering barricade that spat sparks and smoke.

Pyra sank into a combat stance and called up her flames, focusing on making them as bright and eye-catching as possible.

"Come on, then," she said quietly, squinting against the glare from their drawn weapons. "Let's dance."

The line advanced, inexorable as a glacier. Pyra backed up step by step, maintaining her wall of fire, letting its crackle and hiss fill the clearing.

Behind the advancing fighters, a figure parted the smoke, his approach calm and measured. Dark robes swathed him, but he carried no visible weapons. Instead, he simply stood there, watching with an expression that somehow managed to convey disappointment and contempt simultaneously.

"You didn't think you could just leave us, did you?" The voice cut through the smoke and flames, smooth, reasonable. Not unkind. "We're on the cusp of something magnificent here. And you have a role to play in it."

Pyra didn't answer. She was too busy trying to figure out her next move. Running was looking like the most viable option, because this entire scenario was rapidly spiraling toward "out of your league."

But as she turned to bolt through her fiery barrier, her body locked up.

Muscles rigid. Limbs frozen in place. Her fire sputtered out.

Oh, that wasn't good.

"The facility may have... faulted in securing its acquisitions, but that doesn't absolve you of your responsibilities." The robed figure strode closer, seemingly unconcerned by the armed escort flanking him. "We've spent considerable resources bringing you this far. We can't afford to lose potential components now. Especially ones as uniquely suited to our purposes as yourself."

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