POV: Thelma

The lockpick was tiny, barely larger than a needle, but it felt like salvation in my palm. Neon had slipped it through the bars an hour ago, his face twisted with guilt. "I can't undo what I did under Morgana's control," he'd whispered. "But I can help now. Elena died saving me. The least I can do is help save you."

Now, with the guards changing shifts, I worked the lockpick into the silver chains. My fingers trembled, both from fear and from the burns the silver had left on my wrists. The lock mechanism was complex, spelled to resist tampering. But I'd picked locks since I was...