The spoon clicked softly against the shackle's inner ring.
Day 1: The metal wouldn't budge.
Day 5: Her fingers blistered.
Day 12: She learned the rhythm of the lock—two tumblers, one sticky pin.
Day 18: She smiled for the first time in weeks.
By Day 30, she was ready.
---
She woke before sunrise.
Footsteps overhead. Guards changing shifts. She timed each one with the precision of a surgeon.
She slipped out of bed, pulled the spoon from its hiding spot behind the headboard, and crouched by the ankle shackle.
Click.
Click.
Silence.
Then—
**Click.**
A final one. A different one.
The metal band sprang open.
She didn't cry.
She moved.
---
Disguised in a maid's uniform she'd hidden beneath the mattress, Amelia crept through the corridor. Her footsteps were ghostlight. Her hea
