Anxiety grew in Pax as he slumped back on the thin pallet and glared sightless into the thick darkness of the cell. He’d explored the entirety of the small, cramped space to find that rough stone surrounded him on all sides except for a door made of iron bars too thin to squeeze through.

And he’d tried. After waking up alone and in darkness, he’d been surprised to find most of the pain from the evening’s beating had faded. Someone had spent a minor heal on him, something he’d only experienced once before, as a child before his parents had disappeared.

Feeling good, he’d been determined to escape, doing his best to squeeze his skinny, malnourished body through the bars. He’d even managed to get most of the way through, but not his head. The skin above his ears on either side was scraped and bloody from trying.

He wondered how many prisoners had died in this exact cell. The idea brought back a recent memory that made him shiver. Tomis had been leading them through a new set of tunnels and they’d stumbled up on a body. Not that it was the first body Pax had seen, but never one like this one.

Something had sucked the very life out of the poor man, leaving his skin shrunken like parchment around his bones and his clothes looking many sizes too big. And his face. Ugh. The skull still haunted him, its sunken eyes and gaping mouth covered by a thin layer of pale skin pulled tight over the bone, ragged hair in disarray still attached to the scalp.

Strangest of all, the body hadn’t smelled. At all. If there was one thing Pax knew very well about the dead, animals and people alike, it was that they quickly began to smell before turning into a rotten mess that eventually degraded into the dirt. But this corpse? Pax shuddered again, suspecting it was still sitting there, watching and waiting to scare another street rat to death. Pax had no idea what kind of magic would kill like that and never wanted to know.

Not sure if he was more afraid of the Awakening or being forgotten and left to die, Pax had switched to digging at the rusty pins holding the hinges of the door in place, which only left him with bloody fingertips and broken nails.

And when he’d checked his inventory for something that might help him, only the two trinkets from his mom and brother had been left. Not a scrap of food or extra bedding. Some high-level guard in the prison must have used a skill to empty it. At least his two sentimental items had looked worthless and safe enough to let him keep. Pax rubbed at his eyes and clenched his jaw. He hated feeling so helpless, but levels and strength trumped anything he could do.

And he still had no idea where Tomis or Amil were. He’d yelled out in the darkness, but the only response had been a stab of light from the hallway followed by an angry guard jabbing a hard stick through the bars and threatening to do more if he didn’t shut up.

Letting out a frustrated breath, Pax racked his brain for a new idea. The tiny cell was too small and empty to offer anything. When he stood and stretched, Pax could almost touch both sides of the cell. Besides the thin pallet and scratchy blanket, he’d felt a smelly waste hole in the corner covered by an embedded grate which left one of his hands stinking. It was big enough for rats to get through but not much else.

Out of ideas, Pax lifted the pallet and began exploring its length with sore fingers, squeezing along the edges, careful not to miss any sections. Maybe a previous prisoner had hidden something useful inside.

It didn’t take long for him to explore the meager bedding and find absolutely nothing. Discouraged and with the oppressive darkness pressing down on him, Pax gave in and turned to the one indulgence that has always lifted his spirits: his secret spark.

He scooted to the door, pushed his face between the bars and cast a furtive glance down the dark hallway where a thin line of light could be seen under the door at the far end.

Quiet and still.

Reassured, Pax moved to the back corner of his cell and sat down with his back to the door. He curled around his cupped hands and with the ease of long familiarity, he freed the knot inside him that released his spark. At least that’s what he’d always called it. It had been his dangerous secret for so long that he’d never dared ask others if they knew what it was.

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Letting out a slow breath, Pax relaxed as he felt it travel out from his center, with the feel of cool water dribbling down his chin, clean and pure until it popped out of his palm. Staring, he let himself forget his situation and just enjoy the cool ball of light, not much bigger than the tip of his thumb, that shimmered and awaited his instructions. Its small size only lit the area within his palms, but the dim light seemed all the brighter in the cloying darkness of his cell.

Pax’s shoulders relaxed, and he smiled for the first time that night. “Hello there,” he whispered, making the spark dance from finger to finger with the barest touch of mental effort. Pax let himself sink into the bright relaxation that always accompanied the manifestation of his spark. His fear and confusion eased just a touch, and the muscles in his chest loosened, letting his breathing come easier.

“I’ve missed you,” he said with a wistful gaze, realizing the nasty cell had one benefit: no curious eyes to see his spark.

A sudden memory made the edges of his smile fade. The first time he’d discovered his spark, he’d run to show his mother. Instead of matching his excitement, Ma had hissed at him to make it go away before snatching him up and hurrying him home. She’d shut him in his room before leaving to drag Da from his leatherworking. The worried tones of their muffled discussion outside in the hall had knotted Pax's belly with worry or fear.

Their stern faces as they entered the room had made it even worse. There’d been a lot of lecturing about dangers and threats that he didn’t remember now. His parents had forbidden him from ever lighting his spark again.

He’d started crying. Ma had explained that the spark was something special that might make others want to hurt him or try to steal it. But it was their fear, more than anything that had scared him into keeping the promise they’d made him swear.

Until the night they were dragged away by the Guard and never came back. The cloying confines of his cell made flashes of that night come back with a vengeance. The hidden closet at the back of Da’s room had been small and pitch dark too. Just before the guards came, their mother had stuffed the two brothers inside and told them not to come out until morning, no matter what they heard.

Pax had shaken and sobbed at the noises that night, and only Titus’ arms wrapped around him and his hand over Pax’s mouth had kept them from being discovered. Only hours after the last yells and screams faded did they dare leave, grabbing a few supplies before fleeing to the slums. They’d never gone back or seen their parents again.

Pax didn’t remember a lot about those first years with his brother on the streets. But, adrift and afraid, he’d needed something, anything to help keep him from falling apart. So, he’d broken his promise to his parents. In stolen moments of rare privacy, he’d brought out his spark and let its soothing presence ground and anchor him. He’d only ever shown it to Titus, who’d also had no explanation for its danger or importance either. Titus had advised Pax to keep it secret like their parents had told him. And so, he had.

Fighting to push back the dark memories, Pax focused on his spark, moving it up and down his arms and across his chest, letting the peace that always accompanied his spark soak into him.

The problem with a little light was that it made his surroundings somewhat visible. The pallet was stained, and Pax was sure he saw the small movements of bedbugs. The blanket wasn’t much better, so threadbare that the edges had partially unraveled and multiple holes dotted its surface.

But it did give him one last desperate idea. Pax ignored the stabbing pain in his fingers as he tore the blanket into the thinnest strips he could, directing his spark to light his work where he most needed it. With each set of strips, Pax stopped tearing and began twisting. Holding the ends between his feet, he forced his abused hands to twist them one way and then combine multiple lengths together.

After what seemed like hours, Pax finally sat back in satisfaction. He had two thin but strong pieces of cord the length of his arm. He didn’t think his mother would have ever imagined that her tailoring instruction would be used this way. They weren’t really weapons unless he could manage five minutes alone with a guard to choke him out. But still, it made him feel better than having nothing at all.

A loud clang from down the hall made Pax’s head jerk around and instinctively snuff his spark. Hand suddenly shaking, he wrapped the two cords into tight rounds that he slid carefully into the inside edges of his slip-on shoes.

Light poured down the hallway just as Pax adjusted the edges of the cord to a spot where he could easily grab them and pull the lengths out in a single, smooth movement.

Wiping his nervous and sweaty hands on his pants, Pax stood and turned to face the iron door that had bested him through the night.

“Time to get up, shirkers!” yelled a voice, followed by a harsh clanging down the hall. More yelling and the clanging moved closer.

Pax shifted to the back wall of the stone cell, not wanting to take another blow through the bars of the door.

A bulky figure appeared suddenly, his nightstick slamming hard into Pax’s door as he continued to yell for everyone to wake up. He didn’t pause, and Pax couldn’t stifle a relieved sigh when the man continued his cacophonous rousing down the hall .

A few minutes later, Pax heard a commotion back toward the front of the hall. A dull crack was followed by someone crying out and more yelling.