He groped for the wire.

When he was six, he’d tried to make a pencil disappear with a rubber band. It panicked and flew into his thumb instead. It took a week before his body expelled the lead, and a year before the rod-shaped crater closed up.

He shivered a bit as the wire slid out his pant-leg.

Come on now. Thirty seconds.

The wire and pick and him, they were a team.

Come on, we can do this. He felt it tense up nervously. We’ve done this before, he offered. The compartment was silent but for the water.

The handcuffs snapped open with a dull click.

Good boy.

One minute. He wondered if anyone would hear if he screamed. Or do anything other than applaud and move on.

He reached for the door handle and pulled.

Jammed.

All this magic bullshit, he thought, like the time he locked himself in a room and had to wait till his parents got home, it wasn’t worth the five seconds of attention. The only ones who were there for him were his tools.

The door seemed to understand, and gave.