Still, the strain was visible with his large biceps swelling, stretching the fabric tight, as his fingers dug in while trembling from exertion.
With the aid of Earth Qi to reinforce his grip and Wind Qi to soften the pressure and keep sound to a minimum, he slowly pried the window frame free.
The tension creaked once, but barely audible.
He froze, muscles taut as stone, his breath held.
Silence.
Then he continued, easing it open millimeter by millimeter until the final bolt gave, and the entire window lifted free in his hands.
Not torn, not shattered, but freed.
He set it aside silently.
The way out had opened.
Beyond the gap in the wall, he could see it all: open air. Distant rooftops. The lively pulse of the capital.
"Hold on tight," he whispered.
Feng's grip tightened as instructed.
With a deep breath, Quinlan stepped into the void.
His muscles coiled, absorbing the weight. With every movement, he was a shadow. A phantom.
