The night fell over Kama-shima like a heavy curtain.
The silence inside the prison cells was thick, broken only by the occasional cough, groan, or rustle of chains against stone. The long day of labor had drained everyone, and most were too exhausted to do anything but collapse into sleep.
Daemon wasn't most people.
He laid on his back, staring at the low ceiling, his breath steady, ears open.
Tap...Tap...Tap
Then—footsteps.
Light at first. Then more. A cluster of them.
At first, he assumed it was just the guards doing a midnight round. But the sound didn't match the usual military rhythm. These steps were out of sync—sloppy, staggered, eager.
Then came a scuffle. A clink of metal. Whispered voices.
He opened one eye.
William had already bolted upright on his bedding, eyes wide. "Wh-what's that?"
"Relax," Daemon said quietly. He sat up slowly. "Something's about to happen."
There was a sharp scrape of metal against metal.
