I woke up feeling groggy, a thick weight behind my eyes. There were no windows in the room, so I couldn't tell how long I'd been out. The blue curtain surrounding my bed was now drawn shut, and the quiet was absolute. No footsteps and no voices. I hoped I was still alone so the act wouldn't be up.

Something jabbed under my thigh. It took a second to register that it was the sleeping vial Mistress Maggie had left me. I didn't want to go back to sleep. I'd already spent too much time unconscious, and the thought of more felt suffocating. But I'd given Maggie my word. She'd gone out of her way to help me and I owed her that much. Plus it was the sensible decision. Staying awake would be risking people finding out I wasn't that hurt.

I shifted awkwardly to roll the vial toward my hand, careful not to rattle the manacle chains too much. It took a few slow, uncomfortable contortions, and I paused more than once to listen for approaching footsteps. Eventually, I managed to clutch the vial… only to be blocked again. The short length of chain meant I couldn't bring it to my mouth.

Great.

Bit of an oversight in Maggie's plan. Which meant I was now stuck awake, chained to a bed, with nothing to do.

Again.

I was already sick of this situation. After everything with the hospital and now this, I was rapidly losing patience for being tied down like some lunatic. And maybe I was starting to lose it, because what I did next wasn't exactly what you'd call well thought out.

I started considering how I might escape the manacles. They hadn't loosened in my sleep, which wasn't surprising, but I remembered hearing stories, probably exaggerated, about people dislocating their thumbs to slip restraints. I'd never tried it, but the idea had fascinated me for years. I'd only been held back by the risk of doing real damage. Losing my thumb was a risk I wasn't willing to take. In the life I lived, that could literally cost me my life somewhere down the line.

But if I really did have some kind of healing ability, then maybe the risk wasn't as high.

As soon as the though entered my head I knew that was all the justification I needed.

Without giving myself time to reconsider, I bit down hard on the edge of my pillow and adjusted my grip. I lined up my thumb and applied pressure, trying to angle it so it would pop out of joint, not snap entirely. The pain hit immediately. It was sharp and white-hot but I kept going, gritting my teeth until something gave.

The snap felt more like a break than a dislocation. I nearly cried out, only managing to hold it in thanks to the pillow in my mouth. The pain was excruciating. My entire hand throbbed, and I was almost certain I'd done something to my wrist as well.

Still, it worked.

My hand slipped through the manacle with a muffled whimper, and I finally saw the damage. My thumb was bent at a sick angle, and my wrist didn't look much better. But the important thing was: I was free. At least partially.

The pain was almost enough to reconsider, but I'd already committed. I wasn't thinking about the sleeping draught anymore. I swung my legs over the bed as quietly as possible and stood, careful to avoid putting too much strain on my injured hand.

I shuffled toward the curtain, stopping just before the chain pulled taut. I was tempted to free the other hand, but forcing a second injury seemed stupid especially because it was likely there might be something in the room I could use to unlock the manacle.

First, I had to actually check the room though.

This was the risky bit. If anyone was behind the curtain and spotted me, I'd be in deep trouble. I braced myself, planned out my confused-patient act in case I got caught, and slowly stuck my head through the gap.

Empty.

No people. No guards. And the door had no window. I let out a quiet breath of relief and started scanning the space.

There were three other beds, each with its own blue curtain, and to my left, next to the bed beside mine, was a small desk. Beneath it sat a plain equipment box. My eyes lit up.

Jackpot.

I stepped forward, only to be yanked to a halt by the chain. The manacle on my other wrist stopped me cold.

I hissed annoyance through my teeth and crouched down, extending my leg as far as I could. My hand wasn't close enough to reach, but maybe my foot could do the trick. I carefully hooked the base of the desk leg with my toes and began to drag it toward me.

A small pot of pens on the desk wobbled with each pull. I focused hard, moving slow, trying not to knock it over. The metal legs made a soft scraping sound against the floor.

I froze.

Eyes locked on the door. Heart pounding. Every muscle tense.

Nothing.

No footsteps. No alarm. The silence stretched on.

I resumed, inching the desk closer, trying to ignore the searing pain in my wrist. I was close now. If I could just reach the edge of the box…

Almost there.

The chair still made a noise as I inched it closer, but I figured it only sounded loud because of the silence surrounding me. The low screech of metal legs dragged across stone for a moment longer… and then it was within reach.

I found exactly what I was hoping for in the top drawer: a hairpin. Simple. Malleable. Invaluable. A great tool for most general locks, especially if you knew how to use it. My thumb throbbed at the sight of it, a reminder that I'd need to be careful handling anything small and fiddly.

The manacle lock was surprisingly weak considering it was supposed to keep prisoners restrained. It didn't take long to pop open—though the cost of entry had already been paid in blood and pain.

I stretched out both arms, savouring the freedom. Then came the ransacking.

This was always my favourite part of any job. Every drawer, every unopened container held potential. It didn't matter that I was in prison. My brain still lit up at the idea that something inside could be valuable enough to change my luck. I felt my grin widen to inhuman proportions as I thought about it.

Of course, I didn't have a fence anymore so no way to offload loot. I was also missing Dillon's sharp eye and appraisal skills. A wave of sadness crept in and my smile dropped as I realised we'd probably never work a job together again.

The drawer where I found the hairpin didn't hold much else of use. A few medical files described ailments some random prisoners were suffering from which wasn't remotely interesting. I skimmed through them and moved on.

The next drawer held an apple. I eyed it hungrily for a moment before remembering Mistress Maggie. She'd gone out of her way to help me, and stealing her snack felt like a step too far. Still, I justified taking two of the five empty vials I found in there. Yeah, it was technically stealing… but in my defence, I am a thief. Old habits die hard. And Mistress Maggie couldn't really fault me for being true to myself, right?

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

The two drawers on the opposite side weren't much better. More documents, a medical journal, and a folded anatomical poster. It had every part of the body labeled, including a few I hadn't known existed like the 'pancreas,' tucked under the stomach like some forgotten organ. I considered stealing it for my cell, but the poster was too distinctive. It'd be obvious where I got it from. It was also a bit macabre for decoration.

Finally, I turned to the equipment box. It had a sturdier lock than the manacles, but it was still no match for someone with my experience. I had it open in seconds.

Inside were all sorts of vials and instruments, most of them unlabeled. That was a bit of a problem but also part of the fun. I decided to skim off the top. If I emptied the thing, someone would definitely notice, and I wasn't ready for that kind of attention.

I started with a vial of thick black liquid. Probably poison, I figured. Useful in the right circumstances. Next, I grabbed one filled with a clear substance because who doesn't want something mysterious and probably potent? There was a bundle of syringes, one of them terrifyingly long. I wanted it badly, but resisted. It'd be noticed if it went missing. Instead, I took a smaller one, figuring I could still use it as a weapon if needed.

Then I moved on to the pills. I took one or two from every open container and dropped them into the empty vials I'd pocketed. They came in different shapes and colours and filled up quickly, so I shoved the rest into my pocket. Not exactly hygienic, but they were medicine. Surely that balanced out. I grabbed a couple of bandages for good measure and closed the case back up.

There were no hidden compartments in the other beds. No loose panels. No secret doors. I checked, just in case.

Eventually, boredom set in. I started imagining ways I might escape the infirmary but every realistic scenario ended in disaster. Maybe I could outrun a few armoured guards. Maybe I could scale the walls. I might even be able to fight off one dog. But crossbows? Armoured squads? No chance. It was a fantasy, nothing more.

Still, no one had come to check on me. I figured I'd pushed my luck far enough.

I returned everything to its proper place. The desk, the box, even the pen pot I'd nearly knocked over. I smoothed out all the sheets and closed my curtain again. Then I hid my stolen haul in the corner beneath the bed and slid back under the blankets feeling good about my meagre haul.

The sleeping draught was still where I'd left it. I retrieved the vial and brought it halfway to my lips and then froze.

I wasn't in pain.

My thumb, which had been twisted and broken just minutes ago, didn't ache anymore. My wrist, which had been swelling and bruised, felt… fine.

I stared at my hand, flexed my fingers.

No pain.

No stiffness.

Just movement.

And that's when it really hit me.

I might actually be a mage.

I stoppered the vial and tucked it back beneath the blanket, my attention now fully on my hand. This was no time to sleep.

My hand looked... fine. Completely fine.

I stared at it in disbelief. My thumb was back to normal, the swelling gone, the bruising vanished. No pain. No stiffness. My wrist was just as good as it had been. Smooth and mobile without so much as a twinge. I poked and prodded the area where I'd done the most damage, expecting at least some residual soreness. But there was nothing.

It was healed. Completely.

And not just that—it felt like I'd recovered faster than ever before. Faster than from the train fight. Faster than from the whipping. Faster even than after the beatdown with Mike's crew.

Excitement flared in my chest, swelling fast. I was a mage. Actually a mage. The full weight of it hit me like a crashing wave. I had to test it. Experiment. I couldn't try to use any powers here, not with the risk of being caught but I could at least observe what I knew already worked.

I shot out of bed, reached beneath it to retrieve the small needle I'd stashed earlier, and grabbed a shallow metal bowl I'd seen while rummaging around. It would serve perfectly.

With my left hand held over the bowl, I held the needle in my right and psyched myself up. Just a quick test. A small cut. Nothing serious. I hesitated. The longer I thought about it, the more my brain got in the way, imagining all the worst-case outcomes.

Eventually, I had to just go for it.

I cleared my head and jabbed the needle straight into the center of my palm.

The needle was sharper than I'd expected and maybe I put too much force into it because it went clean through my hand.

I clenched my jaw and bit down a scream, gasping as I stared at the metal poking out from the other side. It throbbed with immediate pain. I took a few slow, calming breaths before sliding the needle back out, doing my best not to widen the wound further.

Blood poured from the puncture and splashed into the bowl with quiet, wet plinks. I tilted my hand and immediately regretted it, watching blood flow from both sides and down my fingers. It was a mess. I'd need to clean it up later. Thankfully, there were enough rags nearby to do the job. The only thing missing was clean water. There must be buckets brought in for treatment, but the only liquid nearby was the inch or two of stale water left in a chipped cup. Not worth wasting.

Using the pad of my index finger, I pressed lightly over the top of the wound while my thumb applied pressure to the bottom. I held still, controlling my breathing, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

In my mind, I imagined light sparking to life, some glow or flicker that would reveal the magic inside me. Maybe a warming sensation. A shift in the air. Something obvious. But nothing dramatic happened. No glow. No tingle.

Just a strange sensation, deep inside me. Not pain, not pleasure, just different.

It felt… natural. Familiar, even. As if it had always been there, just out of reach.

It reminded me a bit of flowing water. Like something moving through me. But not quite. It had a similar rhythm to breathing through pursed lips, like that slight resistance and release. Still, that didn't fully capture it either.

The sensation was faint. So faint that if I hadn't been completely focused, I would've missed it altogether. And within that feeling, there was a sense of connection, like I was reaching toward something beyond myself. A channel to something more.

I tried to grasp it mentally and it disappeared instantly. Like fog in the sun.

I let out a disappointed tut and pulled my fingers away from the wound.

There was no wound.

The skin was completely smooth. Not a hint of damage. I turned my hand over and found the other side exactly the same. Not a scar. Not a blemish.

My chest swelled with something between awe and exhilaration. This wasn't luck. This wasn't coincidence. This was power. Real, undeniable power.

I grabbed a rag and began cleaning the blood from my hand and the bowl, keeping an eye on my palm the whole time. No trace of the puncture remained. No redness. No discoloration. It looked like nothing had ever happened.

The speed was incredible.

No wonder I'd survived so much lately. It had seemed like luck, or as though I was just too stubborn to die. But now it made sense.

I healed.

My thoughts raced. I needed to know how far it went. I could clearly mend broken bones but how far would that go. Could I also reverse deep wounds? What about fatigue, poison, disease? Could I drain it from others, too? Could I transfer it?

The temptation to break another bone, just to see it fix itself, was strong. Maybe a finger. A toe. Something minor.

I pulled myself up short, realising just how stupid that was.

But then… maybe it wasn't. This was the infirmary. If there was ever a place to test the limits of healing magic, it was here. I was already supposed to be bedridden. If something went wrong, if I pushed too far, I'd be in the right place to recover. And if I really was a mage… there was no better place to learn what that meant.

Still, I had to be careful. If the guards caught even a whiff of what I could do, they'd drag me straight down to the battery pits. Mistress Maggie had made that part very clear. Whatever experimenting I did, it had to be secret. Controlled.

But gods, it was hard not to get carried away.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my hands.

They looked the same as always. Scarred from work. Calloused. A little shaky from adrenaline. But now I knew they could do things no one else's could.

I grinned to myself.

There was so much to figure out. So much to learn. And this was the perfect place to do it.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.