Page 103 of No Charm Done

Actually, that last one might be worse.

But he’d gotten out of those spots. Not through magic—he had about as much magical talent as a brick—but through reading the angles, finding the gaps, waiting for the mark to make a mistake.

Trouble was, the sentinels weren’t marks. They didn’t have egos to exploit or greed to manipulate. But they were constructs, which meant they followed rules, and rules meant patterns, and patterns meant⁠—

The wards pulsed again.

The sentinels flickered.

Just for a moment. Barely a half-second. But unmistakable.

The demonstration. Whatever Vex was doing in Oak Haven? Whatever spells he was casting, whatever magic he was channeling through this network—was pulling power. And that draw created instability. Tiny gaps in Burke’s perfect control.

Shaw had spent most of his life looking for gaps.

His right hand was still caught in the light band, but suddenly he found that his fingers could move. Barely. Numb and clumsy, but functional. He flexed them slowly, testing.

In his vest pocket was a bent nail he’d pocketed from Void debris out of habit. Not useful for much. But Shaw had spent enough time in restraints to know a little bit about getting out of them. The key was patience.

The wards pulsed. Stronger this time. The sentinels flickered longer, a full second of instability.

Come on, Vex. Cast something big. Show off for your investors. You know you want to.

Shaw twisted his right wrist. Slowly. Using his own weight. The light band burned but gave slightly, just an eighth of an inch. But it was enough.

Another pulse caused lights overhead to stutter. Somewhere deeper in the facility, something electronic made a sound like a dying cat.

Shaw twisted again. His wrist slipped another fraction.

The sentinels’ attention never wavered, but their forms loosened every time the wards spiked, edges blurring like smoke.

One more twist, and Shaw’s right hand came free.

He didn’t move. Just let his arm hang there, still suspended by the left binding, body still sagging like he was unconscious. The sentinels didn’t react.

Good. Stay stupid.

Blood was returning to his hand in sharp little needles of pain. Shaw flexed his fingers slowly, forcing circulation back, while his mind raced through the next steps.

He needed to get to the rack he’d marked with his tie. Somehow stop the feedback loop before Luna got hurt.

The wards pulsed again, and the sentinels flickered.

Shaw reached slowly into his vest pocket and found the bent nail. He waited for the next pulse. When it came—when the sentinels lost cohesion for that crucial second—Shaw moved.

He jammed the nail into the left light band, not to break it but to wedge it, to create a gap, and twisted his whole body downward using momentum and desperation equally. The binding released, and Shaw dropped down.

He hit the concrete floor hard, shoulder first, all the grace of a drunk falling down stairs. No time for dignity. He rolled, scrambled to his hands and knees, and dove under the nearest rack just as the sentinels registered his escape.

Shaw kept moving, staying low, using the racks as cover the way he’d once used Chicago’s back alleys. His shoulder screamed, and his hands were still half numb. But he was moving, and moving meant living.

Behind him, the sentinels were converging, making the floor vibrate.

Cage 7B. Find the tie. Don’t die.

* * *

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Vex said expansively, “let me show you something truly remarkable.” He spread his arms, and the air around him began to ripple like heat shimmer off asphalt. His face blurred, features changing until he became someone else. Then someone else again. A parade of faces went by like a deck of cards being shuffled.