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With a swift motion, I brought the wrench down on him as well, rendering him unconscious.
My ears rang with the aftermath, and my heart pounded loudly, the rhythmic beat syncing with the distant alarms.
Glancing down, I could see the keys attached to one of the guard’s belts.
This part of the prison was old — very old — and many of the systems hadn’t been updated.
Grabbing the keys, I continued down the corridor.
There was a specific cell I needed to unlock, a critical part of our escape plan.
As I approached the door, its significance was clear.
Marked with symbols that only few would recognize, I knew that behind it lay our best chance of leaving this place for good.
Inserting the key, the door hissed and retracted, but I couldn’t wait to see Ohara emerge.
I would not reveal myself to him until later.
He had other things to deal with first.
Running back the way I had come, the sound of my boots reverberated off the walls.
When I reached the recess, Isla emerged, her face pale but determined. “Is it time?” she asked, her voice laced with both hope and fear. “Did it work? Can we leave now?”
I nodded, taking her hand in mine.
It was warm and soft, a comforting contrast to the cool, rigid environment surrounding us. “We’re getting out of here.”
* * *
I led Isla swiftly through the dimly lit corridors, her hand in mine, towards the most unpredictable and chaotic section of the prison: the docks.
Here, ships from all parts of the quadrant would dock, their colorful exteriors gleaming dimly in the station’s artificial light.
The low hum of engines played as a backdrop to our hurried pace.
My nose twitched slightly at the unique aroma of Graxian fuel, a smell that reminded me of sour fruit mixed with an odd undertone.
It was a odor one could never forget.
Through the grates below our feet, I could feel the subtle vibration of numerous spacecraft taking off and landing, each vibrating frequency unique to the ship’s engine and size.
The docks always felt alive with activity.
Soon, a particular ship caught my eye.
Sleek and agile-looking, it was an older model, but one I was familiar with from our previous exploits.
It was perfect for our needs.
“Inside,” I instructed Isla softly, guiding her into the vessel’s hidden entrance.
The ship’s interior was cold, the walls chilly to the touch, with the occasional faint aura of lubricant and old leather filling my senses.
I took a moment to savor the familiar feel of a ship beneath my feet.
However, instead of heading towards the cockpit, as Isla might have expected, I pulled her deeper into the shadows of the vessel.
