They hadn’t been strangers. They had been tried in the same court, on the same day, for the same crime—a crime neither had committed. But the warden had separated them before they could speak. Three years, and they had never known each other’s names.
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The night of the escape arrived, heavy with anticipation. The group gathered in the corner of their cell, their hearts racing in unison. They knew the odds were against them, that failure could mean severe punishment, but they also knew they had to try. They hadn’t been strangers
Liera had slipped into the crawlspace through a gap in the cistern drain, her wrists raw from iron. She said nothing when she found him. She just took the spoon, turned it around, and dug. Three years, and they had never known each other’s names
They had been each other’s phantom accuser—names on a false document, forged by a magistrate who needed two scapegoats. The fates that had condemned them separately had just forced them to crawl through the same narrow dark.