It hurts to hope, she reminded herself. Don’t let yourself hope.

Still, they followed. The woman didn’t lead them down the hall to freedom. Instead, she brought them to a neighboring cell. There was a quick dance with the keys. “Which one, come on?” And they were in. The woman closed the gate behind her.

And now they were trapped in a new, smaller cell. This one, if possible, was even damper.

Scratch tugged on her waistband. “Um . . .”

“Quiet.” The woman hunched down in a corner, frantically pawing at the wall. “Ah!” A little exhale of triumph as her fingers found a loose rock. She pushed it to the side, opening a slender hole in the wall, just big enough for a moderately sized human to crawl through.

“Ursus first, please. If you get stuck, I want Keyes behind you to push.” It was dark in the dungeon, but Scratch was still able to detect a smirk on the woman’s face. “If you please.”

James hesitated. “Could you tell us who—”

“No time.” The woman pushed him towards the hole. “Stay here and be executed, if you please. No skin off my feet.” The way she manhandled James cut a few holes in her nonchalant veneer, but he was swayed. With a shrug and a wince, he crouched into the darkness.

“Now you, Keyes. I’ll be right behind you. Just have to close it up after us.”

Scratch swallowed thickly, obediently making her way into the tunnel. She had known the advantages of her size—counted them, wrote them out, internalized them so that no one could tell her being small wasn’t worth something—but she had never considered within those advantages the ease of escaping the castle dungeon on the eve of her own execution. The passage was downright roomy. For her at least.

“Ugh,” James groaned. “How much longer?”

“Not much.” Their savior (or captor—there was really no way of knowing) was also having a bit of trouble getting through. Scratch bit back a surge of wild laughter. This was ridiculous. She had been preparing to die only a moment ago, and now, upon the instruction of a nameless stranger, she was wiggling through a secret passage to nowhere. The only thing that would make this more absurd was if the whole tunnel collapsed and the last thing she ever saw was James’s ass as he shuffled a foot ahead.

A short, percussive noise rent the close, warm air.

James stopped short. “Scratch, was that your pants?”

“No,” she hissed, though she couldn’t deny her sudden ability to take full breaths, nor the tiny breeze at her backside. Of course her pants would rip. Whatever god had it in for her must be having quite the giggle. Her face burned.

“No time for ripped pants,” the woman whispered, a barely concealed hitch of laughter in her voice. “We’re nearly there. Ursus, push up when you see the iron bar.”