She cast a bespectacled glance at the four cellmates. Any one of them could leave and be captured all over again. And though she had plenty of coin left over from her Ring winnings, it wasn’t here and it wasn’t enough for every prisoner.

“You can walk outside,” Stix finally finished, but the words were breathy and defeated. “I’m sorry. That’s the best I can do. I … I’m sorry.”

The woman’s posture eased ever so slightly. “All right,” she murmured. “Guess we’ll just have to manage.” And with that, she jerked a thumb toward her cellmates, and they all shambled out the iron door.

Stix followed more slowly, a frown etched between her brows. Voices echoed off rough stone. Keys and locks clanked; throats coughed; rats scurried and squeaked; and a trundling line of tired souls shambled past her toward the Ring’s exits. Freed, but not saved.

We understand, the voices whispered. We have felt the same, but there is sometimes a limit to what we can do. To whom we can save. Strangely, Stix found these words a comfort. The voices had been quiet all day, although not in their usual withholding way. They’d held the satisfied silence of an orange tabby purring in a moonbeam. And even now, with Stix’s disappointment to flicker against them, they still offered her gentle grace.

Stix watched the guards, who in turn observed the prisoners from a shadow. The Hammer made sure none interfered, and if his Heart-Thread was in the prisoners’ parade, he gave no indication, showed no emotion beyond a vague disinterest at the procession.

“I opened the last cell,” Ryber said, joining Stix. “It had twelve sailors who cried when they heard me speak their native Kritian.” She didn’t look happy as she said this.

Stix didn’t feel happy as she answered, “Was this the right thing to do?”

Ryber blinked. Then nodded. “Of course it was the right thing to do.”

“But should we be doing more? This…” She waved to the limestone tunnel; water dripped on her arm. “It isn’t enough, is it?”

For half a moment, Ryber held Stix’s eyes. Then her own frown deepened. “I know I was angry yesterday, Stix, but I’m not anymore. This was a good thing. No one can argue with that.”

Except one prisoner did. Before Stix could say this, Ryber leaned in close and slipped her arms around Stix’s shoulders. It was a stiff, awkward embrace because Ryber wasn’t one for affection, but Stix found herself squeezing the other girl back with a ferocity that startled her.

Because Ryber had stayed. For a month now, she had stayed by Stix’s side, unwavering and true. That made her Stix’s Threadsister. That made her family.

“Thank you,” Stix told her, pulling away.