“Oh my gods…” Roark is the first to speak, his voice filled with awe and a sprinkle of irritation. “The bastard actually did it.”

“I guess the bad vibes worked,” I say, turning to Cyprien with a raised brow. “You can admit you were dead fucking wrong at any time. I’m patient.”

Cyprien tilts his head, his expression eerily stony. “Nobody likes a sore winner, Lir.”

Irritation heats the back of my neck as I watch his mouth tip upward in a maddening smirk. Don’t react. Don’t react. Don’t react.

“You little shit-stirring, maggot-eating, sun-dried piece of rotten haggis. You have no right to⁠—”

“WHY?”

Cyprien and I whip toward Roark, our mouths slightly ajar at the look of utter fury pinching his bearded face.

“Why,” he repeats, “am I the only fucking person who would rather leave this hellhole than sit around arguing like a pair of babbling geese?”

I bring a hand to my mouth, stifling my laugh—noting that Lir does the same, his shoulders shaking silently as he tries to hold in his chuckle.

Roark’s gaze narrows, holding out his hand with an expression made of stone. “Give me the fucking key. Now.”

Choking down his amusement, Cyprien tosses the key to the murderous demon. As Roark unlocks his cuffs, I make eye contact with Cyprien, my mouth pulling upward into a rare smirk. “Babbling geese?” I mouth.

“I know, right?” Cyprien mouths back, his expression closing off as he gestures to my left, where Roark is offering me the key. I quickly unlatch my restraints and pass it off to Cyprien, attempting to rise as he inserts it into the lock on his wrist. A powerful sigh blows past his lips as the chains clatter to the floor, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull as his raw, throbbing skin is freed of the iron. Roark shuffles over, offering his forearm to aid Cyprien despite their earlier argument.

Once we’re all upright, we look toward the cell door, the same question swirling in our minds.

“Well?” Cyprien asks. “What are we supposed to do now?”

I inspect the thick iron bars, seriously doubting our ability to knock them down with sheer strength alone. If we all work together, maybe, but I doubt any of us will be able to stand after.

A faint snapping noise draws my attention to the ceiling, noting the fine fissures spreading down to the walls, splitting the stone supporting the cell bars. The iron screams as the stone gives way around the supports, crumbling to the ground in a heap of dust and debris. And with the stone goes the bars, crashing to the cracked stone floor with a crash loud enough to wake the dead.

We share wide-eyed glances, none of us sure if what we’re witnessing is reality or some crazed hallucination.