Screams in the middle of the night—it was a nightmare they’d awoken to last week as well.

“Guardsman injured—clear a table!” Guy ordered, bodies obeyed, pushing into the keep toward the dining hall. The wounded guard was brought to a table, thrashing, his hands desperate to be released. A mist of blood burst from his neck with each spasm.

“What happened?” Guy demanded of anyone. “What in God’s name happened?”

“What do you think happened?” growled a stranger who was struggling to cover the wounded guard’s neck. Girls were there now, bringing basins of water and bandage, one spilled a bowl in horror when she realized what she was looking at.

What do you think happened?

Prison break.

The bailey flew past Guy’s feet. He had never moved faster. If Scarlet and Elena were already out of the prisons, there was no telling where they might be, or who would die next. But if they were still down there—there were only two ways down into the prison, and the Rabbit Cage was always locked from the outside.

He took the stairs in three long strides and ducked into the tunnel. The deep inside was inky black, and the iron gate was ajar.

“Through me,” he breathed, “they’ll have to get through me.”

He had not brought his weapon, nor would he find any down here. Still, he couldn’t wait. They could be anywhere, lurking in the dark, waiting to take him by surprise. But the sound of commotion burrowed its way up from below, and Guy chased into it. Down several passages, every turn it grew louder. Sprinting now, he came to a small hub of cells, lit by a swinging lantern throwing shadows around a huddle of men—all gathered around someone in the middle. Guy plunged himself into their throng.

His gut tightened and he stopped. In the middle of the group was Morg, sweating profusely, eyes red. His blue tabard was soaked in blood, as were his hands, with thin streaks of it across his face and beard, but he didn’t appear injured. And the only riot in the room was that which Guy had brought with him.

“Is he alive?” another Guardsman asked. This was Marshall Sutton, one of the prison watch, an ox in human form. Guy was too late. The thieves had killed and moved on.

He turned, to leave the caves, to fly, to break the castle in half. But he was staring at Will Scarlet.

Inside one of the cells.

Scarlet’s fingers clutched the bars. His cell door was closed and locked. His face, still swollen and purple from the night they’d arrested him, was watching with surprise. The world tightened around him and Guy stared, disbelieving.

“Is Hawkins alive?” Marshall asked again.

Guy blinked. He tried to clear his head and reassess what was happening. “Where’s the girl?”

“What?”