Chapter 12 - The Escape

Sisyphus had been carving the same spot for six hours when the blueprint appeared.

The cell was small, stone on all sides, single torch that guttered every few minutes. Three days since the courtyard erupted into civil war. Three days since Theron's guards had dragged him here and sealed the door.

He'd started carving the second morning. Not because he thought it would work - the walls were thick, the stone solid - but because sitting still felt wrong.

He'd chosen a spot near the floor where the wall met the corner. Seemed reasonable. The metal cup they'd given him for water had a rim that could scrape stone if you hit it right. Each strike removed a tiny amount of material. Probably needed ten thousand strikes to make any real progress.

He was on maybe the two thousandth when something slid under the door.

Paper. Rolled tight to fit the gap.

Sisyphus set down the cup, picked up the paper, unrolled it.