Thunder rolled again, shaking the tavern’s roof beams and loosening another thin stream of rainwater that began to patter steadily into a corner bucket. The barkeep cursed under his breath and stuffed a rag around the leak before returning to polishing a cup with the same rag.

The door creaked again, and a sudden gust of rain-laden wind swept through the room before it slammed shut behind a new arrival—a courier in a soaked red cloak, the Bastion’s sigil stitched across his shoulder. He stomped water from his boots and barked toward the bar, his voice carrying easily through the mutter of the crowd.

“Shipment’s been delayed again. Foreman says the carts can’t cross till after first light. The tide’s higher than the braziers now, and the bridge guards are about to mutiny. Warden’ll have my hide if she don’t get her supplies.”

He slapped a soggy pouch of papers onto the counter. The barkeep eyed the crest on the courier’s shoulder, lowered his voice, and leaned in.

“Tell her to come collect it herself, then. You seen the sea tonight? The causeway’s half underwater.”

“Aye,” the courier replied grimly, wringing rain from his cloak. “But she will. You know she will.”

The courier’s voice dropped further as he leaned over the counter, the crackle of the hearth nearly drowning him out.

“Says she’s moving something down below—one of her experiments broke loose again. Half the guard’s been pulled off to the lower floors. No one’s watching the docks tonight.”

He took the barkeep’s offered drink and downed it in one go.

“One of these days, the sea’ll take that place whole,” he muttered before heading for the door again, pulling his cloak tight. “And I’ll drink to that.”

The heavy latch clicked as he stepped back into the storm.

For a while, the tavern went quiet except for the rain and the low rumble of dice across wood. Then, as though the courier’s words had left a bruise, new whispers began to spread.

At the card table, one of the fishermen who’d spoken earlier leaned closer to his friend, keeping his voice low but not low enough.

“No guards on the docks, eh? If someone had a mind to, they could walk right past the jetty’s checkpoint and no one’d be the wiser. Long as they didn’t spook the sea-watch dogs.”

Another snorted softly.

“Ain’t no one that mad. Not unless they knew exactly where to go once they hit the outer wall.”

“Maybe so. But the storm’s a gift from the gods if you ask me.”

Their laughter died in their throats when lightning struck somewhere far too close, rattling the bottles behind the bar. The barkeep crossed himself and went back to scrubbing.

For the briefest moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. A few heads turned toward the group near the corner table—the rabbit-eared woman’s hood, the elf’s mechanical arm, the soaked stranger newly joined them. Too many strangers for one night, in a port town that preferred the familiar.

[center]╭─〔❨✧✧❩〕─╮[/center]

The skeleton’s sudden burst of fury died into a brittle little laugh as its own absurdity found purchase. Its skull bobbed in the dark, ribs tapping a hollow xylophone as if to prove the joke true.

[color=#F8DE7E]"…A xylophone, eh?"[/color] Izzy let the corner of her mouth twitch. She leaned forward, palms flat on the cold stone between her knees so the motion looked casual. Her voice was low and even, a tether in the dark.
[color=#F8DE7E]"Aye, ye got rhythm, bones. Keep yer ribs warm and yer beak shut 'til we needs yer help."[/color]

When Fingers began rattling off escape schemes like a fevered merchant hawking impossible wares, Izzy gave a dry snort. She rubbed her thumb along the inside of her wrist as if feeling for pulse — for luck — then pushed herself up to her knees and turned square to Jane.

[color=#F8DE7E]"Convulsions, eh?"[/color] she said, not unkind, more pragmatic than mocking.
[color=#F8DE7E]"All the theatrics in the world won't open iron. Guards like a show — true — but they like a tidy show with orders and cuffs. If ye go full fit, they'll drag ye out, fling a sack on yer head, an’ throw ye in the Pits faster than you can finish a verse."[/color]

She hooked a finger under Jane’s chin and tilted it, inspecting the smeared makeup like a captain checking a map for flaws.
[color=#F8DE7E]"Listen. If we’re to make light o’ a plan, do it clever. Make ’em think ye broke right proper — then when they haul ye past the door, we make a scene that’s small enough fer us to work with. Kickin’ an’ clawin’ at a doorway while shackled? That’s a puppet show for the Warden."[/color]

She let Jane’s hopeful talk of dynamite and burning castles pass like a spark against wet straw. Izzy’s gaze flicked down the corridor toward the place where Fingers’ chuckle had come from, then back up.

[color=#F8DE7E]"Bones, shut yer yap an’ listen proper — if ye’ve anythin’ useful — keys, a bit o’ wire, a rusted nail — spit it out. We won’t fashion a flute fer yer ribs, but we’ll take what works."[/color]

Fingers rattled a few more impractical suggestions, then quieter, a murmur of something like eagerness. Izzy’s jaw worked once; she hummed under her breath, thinking, eyes going distant as she measured risks and time. The torchlight painted her face in long shadows. Water dripped like a slow metronome.

From the hall above came the clank of heavy boots, voices raised in that lazy cruelty prisoners knew well. Two guards paused outside their block, leaning against the corridor wall with torches guttering in their gauntleted hands.

[color=#8B0000]"Heh — they’re gettin’ fresh tonight, ain’t they? New lot’s gotta be feedin’ the Warden’s toys tomorrow. Heard she’s got some new… pets. Big ones. Gonna be a show."[/color]
[color=#8B0000]"‘Course. We’ll toss ‘em down in the ring, let the beasts pick through the crowd. Best entertainment this side o’ the Empire. Bet the Warden’s got a bottle of ambrosia lined up for the front row."[/color]

Izzy’s lips thinned. Her fingers tightened around the iron bar until the knuckle cut the air, but she didn’t shout. She simply watched the guards’ shadows pass, noting the cadence of their steps, the way one of them kept looking over his shoulder like a man waiting for direction.

Then the corridor doors banged open with a rush of wind, and another guard barreled in, rain and mud slinging from his cloak. His voice cut like a blade through the low-jeer chatter.

[color=#8B0000]"All hands! Down to the lower floors — the Warden's experiment’s loose! Pets broke out! Contain the lower blocks, contain the lower blocks NOW!"[/color]

The two idle guards snapped upright. One barked an order without pity.
[color=#8B0000]"Move! Move! You lot — double time! Down the east stair, quick! Keep the prisoners penned—do not let ‘em near the doors!"[/color]

Boots thundered as men scrambled; armor clattered, belts jangling. For a heartbeat the hall hummed with confusion, then the guards’ pacing quickened into a rout — men shoving past the cell doors, torches bobbing as they streamed away toward the stairwell. One of the departing officers threw a glance back at the row of cells, voice sharp and mean.

[color=#8B0000]"Stay where you are or you’ll be bait, got it? Don’t be stupid."[/color]

Their footsteps faded down the corridor, echoing into the stone throat of the Bastion. The only sounds left were the drip of water and the distant, panicked noises of men running toward the lower wards. For a moment a hush hung where the guards had been — an absence that rang as loud as a bell.

Izzy breathed out slowly. The torchlight flickered, and in that shrinking light her face set like flint.

[color=#F8DE7E]"Well,"[/color] she said, soft enough for only Jane and the nearest bones to hear,
[color=#F8DE7E]"looks like the Warden’s pets are out. That’s music t’ the ears o’ anyone needin’ empty watch posts."[/color]

She let the words sit, eyes on the iron, listening as the last echoes of boots vanished into the lower dark. Outside, the storm rolled on — and somewhere above, the Bastion shifted, the Warden’s appetite for spectacle peeled back for a moment to reveal a sliver of opportunity.