They sat round the small table, the fire guttering low, and the plan unfolded in fits and starts like a map drawn from memory and stubborn hope.
Marissa pushed her chin forward, proud and rapid. "All right — listen. When we get to the prison, I'll be the obvious one. I'll talk to the guards at the front. I'll ask them questions about visiting hours, about supplies or deliveries — anything to keep their attention. I'm good at talking. I can be annoying enough to distract them long enough." She grinned, tugging the strap of her bag as if it were already slung over her shoulder.
Celeste's mouth tightened into a line. "You mean to play chatterbox while three other people slip past the front gates?" She folded her hands, trying to temper the rising edge in her voice. "You know women are not admitted inside, yes? Any attempt to force entry would bring immediate alarm."
