After midnight, I timed the guard's patrol by his footsteps. His shoes struck the concrete at the same pace on every pass, slowed near the stairwell, then faded at the far end of the corridor.
By two a.m., I had counted how long he stayed beyond the corner and learned which floorboards outside the cell made noise.
At precisely one-fifty-eight a.m., I left the mattress. The guard had just turned away. I had ninety seconds.
Earlier, I had worked a stolen thread into the electronic cell lock, copying a trick from a handyman at the restaurant.
The thread kept the sensor from seating fully even though the panel showed green.
I pulled. The latch released with a click, and I caught the door before it swung open. Then I stepped barefoot into the emergency-lit corridor.
Arthur's server room s
