Luca ached with every breath he took. The iron shackles had rubbed a nasty patch on his wrist. Every single muscle in his body was screaming at him to stop moving, but push through he would. Not when he could see freedom close enough to touch.

The plan hardly had a chance from the word go. For days, he and his fellow inmate, a fierce, rogue girl, Lyra, whispered between the bars of their cells, keeping a close eye on the guards and drawing up a mental picture of their movements. Though men of Odessa had hardly shown much compassion, they had also been very much arrogant-they thought the prisoners...