"THE PRISONERS HAVE ESCAPED!"
Luki's voice split the silence like a whipcrack, jolting the camp into chaos. Men scrambled from their sleeping mats on the ground, eyes wild with confusion, only to find themselves bound with iron shackles, while the others with ropes.
It was already too late. The shadows of the forest had swallowed the escaping prisoners whole.
Luki cursed. His right wrist was still shackled to his deputy, the heavy iron links clinking with every movement. But his left hand was free. From his boot, he retrieved a small, glinting object—the spare key to the shacklebolts. Of course, Luki had a backup. A man doesn't rise to command a band of thieves and mercenaries without contingency plans. He lived by them.
"Hold still," he growled, freeing his deputy in a quick twist of the wrist. He shoved the key into the man's hand. "Get the others out, fast. And give me a report of how many prisoners escaped and what their backgrounds are."
