Knock. Knock! KNOCK! My eyelids sprang open and I rubbed my eyes groggily before trying to untangle myself out of the twisted blankets that bound me to the surprisingly comfortable bed. I scrambled to put on the cape, for Ken would certainly be angry if I had left it.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" I shouted after the knocks grew sharper, my voice cracking after having not spoken for a while.

Hastily folding my sheets—though it was more of just shoving them into the corner of the bed—, I swung open the door and was greeted with Matilda's playful shove, nearly knocking me off balance. "C'mon, sleepyhead, we have a prison to bust."

Before I could even reply, she had vanished, the only sign of her being the gentle footsteps and a prolonged creak that made me cringe. I took a step into the hallway, the single window near the stairwell provided barely any moonlight and the small lightbulb in the center of the hallway cast eerie shadows along the walls as I slunk towards the stairwell.

The floorboards were merciful to my feet, not immediately freezing them but I hurried on, partly because I didn't want to stick around long enough to find my feet frosted, but mostly because time was of the essence and I could already see Matilda rolling her eyes at the sight of me.

Gingerly tip-toeing down the stairs, a pungent, yeasty smell drifted into my nose and I recoiled, pinching my nose as I continued downstairs.

"What is that smell?" I whispered.

Matilda let out a long sigh, rolling her eyes, but not directed at me. "My father's bottles upon bottles of beer. I've written a note telling him I'll be away, but I doubt he'll even notice it."

There was a trickle of sadness lurking in her eyes and her lip quivered ever so slightly, but she had turned away before I could get a better look.

"Let's go," she said, draping a woolen jacket over her shoulders. "It's going to be a long night."

The frosty night air nibbled at my cheeks as she swung the door open slowly, the hinges groaning as the metal ground against the wood, and I ducked under my hood. Matilda appeared unfazed by the cold and even loosened her jacket slightly as she strolled across the street, her footsteps resonating through the barren city.

Streetlights occupied each end of a block, illuminating a small radius, but otherwise, we were concealed in a blanket of darkness as we headed toward the prison. My feet padded against the pavement gently and sank into something sticky that grabbed onto my shoes like a boa wrapping itself around its prey. The moonlight provided my answer as I wrestled with the blood that clung to my shoes, reminding me of the horrible incident earlier.

A few bodies still lay unattended, and one head had lolled to the side and gave me a long, empty stare, its eyes devoid of any emotion. A crunch jolted me, and I scrambled back like a madman when the head slipped off the curb and hit the ground with a terrible crack, dislodging it from its neck. Blood seeped from the neck—darkness thankfully concealing its source—and formed an eerie pool that trickled down the street and into the drain. Pit pat. Pit pat. It dripped almost rhythmically and I squinted, making out what seemed to be a scampering rat, slurping up what remained of the pool.

Needless to say, I stayed no longer, hastily grabbing my legs and hurried off to find Matilda, who had been taking a leisurely stroll and appeared to be... counting the stars.

"Thirteen. Fourteen—" She stopped, her nose wrinkling at the sight of my disheveled manner. Sarcasm dripped from her mouth as she smirked at my appearance. "Glad for you to finally join me. C'mon now, the prison isn't going to break itself."

She turned, picking up her pace, and my feet nearly tangled themselves as I scrambled to catch up. After finally keeping up with her slight jog, I took a good look at the city, which I had only read of. Tall buildings loomed over us and cast long shadows, thickening the blanket of darkness that covered us, but what the city lacked on the outside was certainly made up on the inside.

Patches of light flickered from scattered windows that passed through the streets, and the hum of conversation and movement that could be felt underneath my shoes tickled my feet. We rounded a corner, passing a pub, which hosted a plethora of music and laughter, the people casting shadows along the window as they danced and moved about.

Nightlife sure is different than back in Arborad, I thought wistfully, a sliver of guilt churning in my stomach.

My eyes still hovering over the many small shops and stores that lined the street, I crashed into Matilda, which surprisingly hurt me more than her. I scrambled to my feet, starting to profusely apologize, but she waved it off with a flick of her wrist.

"What are you doing?" I asked as she stood at the edge of the pavement, looking down the street at something I couldn't quite make out in the darkness.

"Calling a cab, what else?" She said, as the plodding of hooves brought a horse-drawn car into view, the steed a beautiful shade of black with scattered white spots like the night sky, and an ornate closed carriage that held the smell of fresh black paint.

"Where to, miss?" The driver said through a rolled-up piece of paper, puffing out little clouds of water vapor. A small bowler hat sat on top of his head as if to cover up his thinning hair, and the ends of his fuzzy mustache curled up almost like a smile.

"Hortrum prison," Matilda said as if were the most normal place to be going to, especially during the night.

"Visitin' someone?" He asked, his eyes holding a vacant gaze at her. "From the riots, I assume. Every day there's more and more..." He sighed, putting down the roll, and a cloud of water vapor drifted into the night sky, slowly dissipating. "When shall God shed a drop of mercy on us?"

He waved absentmindedly, gesturing for us to step into the carriage. A small round window, fogged by puffs of water vapor, gave me a glimpse of the inside: a red cushioned pair of couches sat across from each other and a dangling lightbulb cast a gloomy atmosphere inside, its light dimly illuminating the carriage.

Swinging open the door, Matilda took a seat in the back, and I plopped down across from her, the couch threatening to pull me in as it magically applied just the right amount of pressure to my aches. I pushed myself up, gently grabbing the door handle and shutting the door, and a moment later I could hear the plodding of hooves and the gentle hum of the car as it chugged along the road, buildings and shops passing by slowly.

"Matilda," I whispered, suddenly realizing that I didn't quite understand why she was so eager to help us. "What's in it for you?"

She seemed taken aback at my statement and glared at me, hot tears beginning to spring from her eyes like a gushing waterfall. "What do you mean 'What's in it for you'?! If I didn't want to help you, I wouldn't even be here with you, trying to break some capital scum from prison."

She paused as if regretting saying the next few words. "The truth is... I need your help. And you need to put your trust in me, otherwise this will go downhill faster than you can say capital."

She had somehow dodged my question and put the blame on me, but it seemed to be a sensitive topic, evident by her tear-stained cheeks, and I decided not to push it.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, my cheek pressed against the cold window as I stared at the passing city, a myriad of buildings of various sizes coming and going out of view. With a sudden jolt that made me nearly fall out of my seat, the car came to a halt and Matilda stepped out of the carriage; I followed close behind.

She reached into her jacket pocket, fishing out a handful of coppers (had they been the ones Ken had used?), and tossed it to the driver, who only grunted in response as he stashed the coins into a glass jar.

"G'night," he muttered, before he lifted the reins, commanding the horse, and disappeared into the night.

I looked up, to where the prison was, wedged in between two inconspicuous buildings, their brick walls bland and distasteful. Two magnificent stone towers loomed over a rocky wall that had been patched with bricks, cement, and everything in between, forming the look of a large patchwork quilt. Two guards, adorned with a round metal helmet and a standard uniform, a dark vest, shirt, and pants, had slipped from their position and the gentle snores almost sounded like a lullaby, luring them to sleep.

"Punch me." I had almost thought that it had been someone else, but when Matilda faced me expectantly, I just stared at her in confusion.

Just trust me. She mouthed, and a lightbulb clicked on in my head—this was somehow part of her plan, but how? I had absolutely no idea. It seemed almost counterintuitive to maim the person who supposedly was the brains, but then again, it wasn't like I knew how to execute a prison break.

It was then that I realized that I had never engaged in any physical fights, and so I clumsily formed a misshapen fist, my thumb sticking up like a true sore thumb, and my fingers, numb from the cold, simply hung onto my hand lazily.

I could feel the irritation jumping off her skin as she grabbed my hand, adjusting my thumb so it locked my fingers in place on the side and squeezed my fist until it was an abnormal shade of purple.

"Now that's a proper fist." She said proudly as if my fist was a work of art. "Punch me."

My hand still numb from the squeezing, I slowly raised it and shot it forward, shutting my eyes at the last moment to not witness what I had done.

"What was that..." Matilda's voice dripped with shock and a hint of disgust.

"I didn't hurt you that much, did I?" I asked, peeking from underneath my eyelids to assess the damage.

She snorted and straightened out her jacket sleeve, where I had struck her. "If you call that a punch, I don't even want to know what a handshake is for you. Try again."

I closed my eyes, embracing the darkness that surrounded me, and took in a calming breath that sent gentle shivers down my spine. Taking a step back, I lurched forward, propelling myself with all the strength I could muster and concentrating it into my fist.

"Ow!" Matilda's voice rang out before a thud forced me to open my eyes. "It freaking stings!"

"D-Didn't you tell me to—"

Before I could finish, one of the guards sprang up, alerted by the commotion, and hurried towards me, his footsteps thumping against the ground rhythmically.

"You there!" He barked, adjusting his helmet which had slipped during his slumber. "You are violating the Hortrum law. Cease immediately or you'll face the warden."

I froze, my fist still hanging in the air, and I started to back off when Matilda mouthed, Again. My body trembled as the guard approached me, smacking his baton against his free hand, but my fist remained unwavering as I struck her crumpled body as softly as I could manage without exposing ourselves.

Before I could retract my arm, the cool metal struck me with such force that I was sent tumbling a few feet away, gasping for air and clutching my side where I felt like knives had been stabbed. I clawed at the pavement, but my hand was immediately crushed under the guard's boot, smearing my hand with dirt and drilling it into the rock.

My screams of agony were cut short by another strike, this time on my back. My eyes nearly fell out as my lungs collapsed and my ears pounded against my head, blood rushing to it as I received another strike.

"Stand up!" The guard barked, his voice piercing my ears. When I didn't, my body frozen in fear and racked with injury, he sank his boot into my midsection, jolting me enough that I mustered the remaining strength I had to stand up shakily.

"You're coming with me," he said as he bound my hands together with a thick rope that rubbed painfully against my sore wrists. "Miss, you can come to the warden's office to file a complaint, if you wish."

Matilda sprung up immediately, her "injuries" seemingly having healed, and she gave me a wink before following the guard through the large wooden doorway, and into Hortrum prison. If this was still part of her plan, I would have to give her my sincere apologies that I thought she was a somewhat decent person.