SAOIRSE
Their plan to escape had been in motion since they'd been shoved into the muggle vehicle that drove them away from the scene. A big white van with no windows had stopped them from figuring out their initial surroundings, but that hadn't been a deterrent for two highly on guard, intelligent victims. Thomas had silently counted the stops they'd made, making a map of the turns in his head while Saoirse had determined the length of the car ride. They took every chance to manage a look at their surroundings and had gathered that they were near a church, from the smell of the place there was a bakery near by, and lots of muggle traffic.

These criminals had really decided on the wrong set of people to take hostage.

It had quickly been determined that they were muggles, squibs. They knew about Thomas and Saoirse's fame but they tied their hands up with muggle binds and locked their door with a key that rested on a ring with at least twenty different keys. They were being fed, but the wound from the knife on Thomas' side had been crudely sewn up with, once again, muggle tools. It had quickly become evident that the gash was infected, and on this third full day of capture, Thomas was feeling like death.

But tonight they were going to escape, so he had to deal with the pain for at least another fifteen minutes.

He shut his eyes, taking in deep breaths as the jingle of the keys came closer down the corridor from outside. He needed to look as if he was on the brink of death for this to work fully to their advantage, and it wasn't a hard thing to accomplish. Thomas laid slumped in the far corner of the room, knowing that Saoirse could handle her own while he drew the attention of their captor. They had devised enough of a plot to escape and it was all determined by if this bloke with the keys was stupid enough to turn his back to Saoirse. The door opened and a stream of light draped over his form.

"Oy, what the hell's wrong with him?"