Jason felt his body merge with the surroundings.

  A faint breeze of cold rolled over his skin. The rattle of chains from the adjacent room echoed clearly in his ears. Vindarion’s breath came rapid and shallow, each inhale scraping his throat—so different from Jason’s own steady exhales through his nose.

  His senses had peaked, like when he entered hyperfocus. But this was different. Deeper. Connected.

  He felt it in his wrists first—the strength waiting there, restrained but present, greater than before.

  All of this registered in mere moments. Time slowed, as it always did, but now his thoughts were clearer—ordered, rational. The tells he had learned to search for surfaced effortlessly. He could measure his strength, his reach, the pressure he could apply, all within the span of a breath.

  Vindarion was still frozen, eyes locked on Jason’s glowing irises.

  Only moments had passed.

  Vindarion’s mouth began to move. His jaw tensed, ready to shout for the guards.

  Jason moved first.

  He pulled his arms slightly from the wall and drove his head forward, slamming his forehead into Vindarion’s. The impact landed harder than intended. Vindarion staggered, a sharp crack sounding through the room, blood immediately spilling down his brow.

  Silenced—for now.

  Jason’s attention snapped outward. The escape had already begun.

  From the other room came the clinking of cell doors being forced open. Then the heavy thuds of bodies hitting the ground as guards were overwhelmed by the released prisoners. They wouldn’t wait for him.

  He pulled at his restraints again.

  The difference was undeniable.

  Jason pushed himself away from the wall, forcing his arms forward. The cuffs dragged his hands together, metal biting into skin as his wrists were crushed closer and closer. He slid past Vindarion’s position, his hands nearly slipping free as blood welled beneath the restraints.

  Vindarion clutched his head, ears ringing. The room spun as he stared at the blood coating his fingers.

  Then the glowing eyes were right in front of him.

  Too late.

  Jason surged forward with a final burst of force, leaping away from the wall and twisting mid-motion. He landed behind Vindarion as the cuffs snapped free from the stone. The glowing wires crossed as they retracted—and when Vindarion turned, Jason was already holding the cuffs together in his hands.

  Then Jason simply… let go.

  The restraints recoiled violently, slamming into Vindarion’s throat before dragging him back against the wall. His head struck stone with a sickening crack. The only sound he could make was a desperate, choking gasp as the cuffs continued pulling, straining to return to their original position.

  Jason’s hands tore as the metal ripped free. Skin split, blood streaming down his palms.

  He felt it.

  The pain was real—sharp, immediate—but it didn’t take control. His breathing remained steady. His thoughts stayed clear.

  What had changed wasn’t his tolerance.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  It was the momentary absence of the thorn Aleksey had spoken of.

  The weight in the back of his mind was gone. The emotions that once slowed his decisions no longer resisted him. The choices he had made—every one of them—were accepted. They were part of him now.

  And with them, he would save who he could.

  Jason’s gaze shifted to the door.

  Beyond it, the plan was unfolding. He heard Aleksey wedge the hook beneath the hinges, followed by the screech of pins being torn free from the second door beyond.

  Jason stepped forward, leaving Vindarion gasping as his skin drained of color. Thin trails of blood streaked the wall behind him.

  He stopped before the door and focused on the handle.

  A precise strike. Enough force to bend the metal—nothing more.

  Jason made a fist and jabbed forward.

  The blow landed harder than intended. The handle warped, metal groaning as the lock gave way. The door crept open.

  On the other side, prisoners braced the detached door as a shield. Guards pushed back from the opposite side, locked in a stalemate.

  “Now, Sergei!” Aleksey shouted.

  Sergei shifted the door just enough.

  Several guards stumbled through as their balance broke. The prisoners surged forward, fists and stolen weapons crashing down. Some fought bare-handed. Others wielded batons and blades stripped from fallen guards.

  Slowly—steadily—the plan took shape.

  Jason stepped into the room, ready to join them.

  Then he stopped.

  Something pulled at him. Faint, distant—but undeniable.

  The force within him tugged sideways.

  He turned.

  In a nearby cell, Aleksandr sat slumped against the wall, barely alive. Each breath was shallow, uneven. Jason felt the pull more clearly now—a connection he couldn’t name, drawn toward him by the same power flowing through his body.

  Then Aleksandr exhaled one last time.

  The pull vanished.

  Aleksandr remained where he was, motionless. Lifeless.

  Jason stood there for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

  “Come on, Jason!” Aleksey yelled. “We push through soon!”

  Jason snapped back to the objective.

  Escape.

  He moved toward the group. With every step, the world opened further—angles, gaps, tells revealing themselves in guards and prisoners alike.

  His eyes caught the hook lying off to the side.

  Useful.

  They continued their rhythm—creating small gaps, letting guards slip through, collapsing on them—but the pressure lessened. The guards adapted. No more mistakes.

  Now came the hard part.

  They pushed.

  “Give me an opening,” Jason said, his voice lower than usual.

  Sergei and Aleksey exchanged a glance, then nodded.

  One last gap opened—just wide enough.

  Jason hurled the hook through it.

  It struck a guard square in the face, the impact launching him backward into the line behind him. The force rippled outward, several guards stumbling as their formation faltered.

  “Now we push!” Aleksey roared.

  The prisoners surged forward in unison. Guards were driven up the stairs, some losing their footing, others dragged down and beaten or stabbed as the prisoners passed.

  The numbers thinned—but not enough.

  More guards were already on their way.

  Jason followed close behind, nearly at the stairs, when the room twisted. Pain flared sharply in his hands.

  He inhaled slowly.

  The distortion faded.

  Ahead, Sergei and the front line forced the guards into the side hallway using the heavy door. A few steps more and they slammed it shut, locking the guards inside their own break room.

  A loud thud echoed as the door sealed.

  Now only the scanner remained.

  “If we trigger the scanner alarm, the whole prison locks down!” Aleksey shouted. “Nico—get the keycard!”

  A smaller man pushed forward—Nico—holding the card tightly. He froze as gunfire erupted between him and the control room.

  A sprint he wouldn’t survive.

  “Give it here,” Jason said, stepping beside him. “I’ll make it.”

  Nico looked at him—at the glowing irises—and hesitated, overwhelmed. Jason didn’t wait.

  He took the keycard from Nico’s hand and turned toward the control room. Bullets tore through the air from both sides.

  He waited. Measured. Then Jason stepped forward.