The night had fallen thick and heavy over Wychwood, the kind of darkness that seemed to swallow sound and hope alike. Rena pressed herself against the rough wooden wall of their prison, her heart hammering so hard she was certain the guards outside could hear it. Beside her, Baren's breathing was controlled but tense, his amber eyes catching what little moonlight filtered through the single narrow window.
"The binding spell is weakest at night," Rena whispered, her fingers tracing patterns in the air as she'd been doing for hours, testing, probing, searching for any weakness in the magic that held them. "I can feel it. Like... like a rope that's starting to fray."
"How long?" Baren's voice was barely audible, his draconic heritage giving him exceptional hearing that let him track the guards' movements outside.
