They worked in silence, glancing around as the hook passed carefully between the bars. Jason kept watch while it changed hands, making sure no eyes lingered on them.

  The cellblock lay mostly empty. Only the occasional squeak of a rat or the low groan of prisoners echoed from the darkness. Now, another sound joined them—the slow scrape of metal against stone.

  Jason pressed the hook’s point against the cold floor of his cell and began grinding it down, flattening the tip. After a while, he stopped and inspected it.

  Barely a scratch.

  This would take time.

  Aleksey stood watch near the corridor, his posture relaxed but alert. His gaze flicked back often, tracking the hook’s progress.

  “I see,” he murmured with a faint smirk. “You make lever for hinges.”

  Jason nodded without looking up and resumed grinding.

  An hour passed. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold. The hook’s end had begun to flatten—but not enough. Eventually, they switched. The hook slipped through the bars to another pair of hands.

  Progress was slow.

  Guards passed intermittently, scanning the cells to see who still lived. Sometimes they dragged new prisoners in. Sometimes they took others away from the far end of the corridor.

  Not everyone could press down with the same strength. Many were injured. Some old.

  Hours later, the flat surface was finally there. Fingers trembled, numb and aching. Exhaustion settled in, and a few prisoners slumped down to sleep.

  Jason took the hook again and began grinding the flattened end against the rectangular metal frame of his cell door.

  He met Aleksey’s eyes and nodded.

  Aleksey returned the gesture. He understood.

  They rotated again—some resting, others working. Nearly an hour later, a shallow V-shaped notch had formed in the metal.

  It wasn’t enough yet—but it was close.

  Jason passed the hook back to Aleksey and sank down onto the floor. His body ached. His hands barely responded. The cold pressed in from every side.

  Sleep claimed him anyway.

  He drifted off to the steady rhythm of metal scraping against metal.

  ***

  The clang of metal tore him awake.

  Jason’s eyes snapped open as the cell door rattled. Vindarion stood outside.

  “I need to relieve some stress,” he said calmly. “Get him out.”

  Jason was still slightly dazed from being woken, but understanding came quickly.

  His gaze flicked to the neighboring cell. Aleksey stood there as if nothing unusual was happening. Jason knew the escape was close now. They had the hook.

  If it happened tonight, they would need to block two sides. Jason had started to understand Aleksey’s thinking. He would shift the timing—this was ideal. Guards were changing shifts, spread thin as they escorted the daily intake of prisoners like clockwork.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Jason would handle one side.

  The prisoners would take the other.

  His focus snapped back as a boot stepped into view.

  Another kick—routine. His body reacted instinctively, bracing before impact. It dulled the pain, but he still let himself crumple. If he didn’t, they would keep kicking until it truly hurt.

  He slumped and was dragged to the wall.

  A final glance at Aleksey revealed something new—fear. The plan was already diverging. Improvisation.

  Jason was hauled into position. As Vindarion and the guards entered the interrogation room, Jason saw Aleksey subtly signal the others. Hands moved toward the cell lock.

  Vindarion stopped at the table.

  His brow furrowed.

  One of the tools was missing.

  The sound of Jason’s body striking the wall pulled his attention back.

  “What should we use today?” Vindarion said mildly, gesturing for the guards to leave.

  They obeyed. The door sealed with a heavy clang.

  Vindarion circled the table, deliberately taking his time. Jason prepared himself—now with the added weight of knowing the others were moving without him.

  “I heard you were born on some backwater planet,” Vindarion said. “Gone now, isn’t it?” His smile twisted. “Did you lose your family?”

  He selected a hardened glove studded with metal.

  “I understand loss,” he continued. “So you should understand—I want you to feel every inch of this.”

  He stepped forward.

  The first punch caught Jason’s chin. The world blurred, sound flattening into a dull hum. Another blow followed before he could recover.

  Darkness crept in.

  And then—

  Sand. Scrap metal. Orange light spilling through a crooked doorway.

  Home.

  Jason staggered, disoriented. Was this a dream? Or had everything else been one?

  No.

  This was his mind searching for stillness.

  An old man stepped inside, brushing dust from his sleeves.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ashar said, smiling.

  Jason returned it weakly, his lips trembling.

  “I just… feel at home.”

  “You didn’t before?” Ashar asked.

  “Not like this,” Jason admitted. “And I never will again. I can’t return.”

  Ashar laughed—too loud for the moment’s heaviness—and placed a hand on Jason’s chest.

  “Home isn’t a place,” he said. “It’s the memories you carry. Your home is here.”

  Ashar stepped back and disappeared through the doorway.

  Jason rushed after him—and stumbled.

  Metal clanged. Gears turned. Bolts tightened.

  He lay on the floor, staring up at Friederick and Max in the maintenance room.

  “Fixing things again?” Friederick asked, smirking.

  “You try to fix what isn’t yours yet,” he added. “The world is broken, Jason. You can’t save it—not now. First, you must learn how to live in it.”

  “I’m trying to save the people I care about,” Jason snapped. “Is that wrong?”

  Before Friederick could answer, Max spoke—quietly.

  “Don’t lose yourself,” he said. “I did. Everything became noise. Chaos. I lost the place where I could be at peace.”

  He turned away, and continued working while sparks were flying from a grinder.

  Jason shielded his eyes—

  And the sparks became fireflies.

  Dusk settled around him.

  Sakura sat beside him, watching the sunset.

  “Quite tranquil,” she said.

  “I feel lost,” Jason whispered. “Out of place.”

  She smiled and placed a hand over his heart.

  “Everything is where it should be,” she said softly. “You only see darkness, but darkness makes the light visible. Focus on the light. Close your eyes. Breathe, calm your mind, calm your soul.” She does the same, as she closes her eyes and turns her face towards the disappearing sun.

  Jason obeyed.

  Hyperfocus stirred—but it was different. Deeper. Quieter.

  The world slowed. His thoughts settled. A gentle warmth spread through him, carried by a steady heartbeat. Pain faded. Weight lifted.

  Heavy footsteps approached behind him.

  A large hand settled on his shoulder—steady, reassuring.

  “Your body was prepared already,” Tahuuk said softly. “Now your mind is as well, brother.”

  He opened his eyes.

  Vindarion stared at him in shock.

  And in the reflection of those widened eyes, Jason saw himself.

  His irises glowed white.

  He had awakened them.