Aladar was a city of shining light, a place of electric lamps and horseless carriages, a beacon of civilization. But its prison cells were the same as every other one Desa Kincaid had seen across the face of this continent. Three stone walls and a set of bars that cut her off from the cellblock. The only window was about the size of her palm and also blocked off by bars.
Desa sat on a bench with her elbows on her thighs, covering her mouth with both hands. “Well,” she said. “This is quite the predicament.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“Need I say anything more?”
Miri stood with her back turned, one hand braced against the wall. The woman hung her head in frustration. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “Perhaps you could offer some suggestions as to how we get out of here.”
A smile grew on
