Blazar sat hunched in the corner where two walls met, the coldest spot in her cramped prison, letting the chill seep through her bones as she thought deeply.
The dim light filtering through the barred window cast dancing shadows across her weathered hands as she twirled the curious lockpick, Vyne handed her between her fingers with the practiced grace of a street magician.
Blazar had hidden the key mimic in her chest bindings. When the guards searched her, they patted down her clothes, checked her boots and hair, but they didn't go further than that.
But this wasn't just any lockpick—it was a key mimic.
The key mimic was her masterpiece, a marvel of engineering.
Its mechanism was elegant in its simplicity, ruthless in its execution.
When pressed into any lock, they would map the internal grooves with the precision of a master craftsman measuring precious gems.
