Neil darted down the spiralling staircase, his breath steady, his mind focused. His task was clear—execute the plan Jim had entrusted to him. As he neared the landing of the fifth floor, he slowed his steps, eyes narrowing at the sight ahead.
A group of guards sat slouched together, laughing raucously, their cups sloshing with ale. The sharp, acrid scent of alcohol filled the air, mingling with the stale musk of the tower’s damp stone.
Neil muttered under his breath, "Jim was right… They're completely off guard."
He turned to a narrow, barred window overlooking the courtyard below. The moon cast a pale glow over the prison grounds. Taking a steady breath, he drew the flare from his tattered prison garb and aimed it skyward.
With a swift flick of his wrist—
"Siuuuu... BOOM!"
A crimson
