I knew exactly how my body occupied space.

More importantly, I knew what I was wearing.

My coat was a custom piece I had designed and stitched myself from heavy, water-resistant melton wool.

It had deep, reinforced pockets, lined with silk taffeta to prevent tearing.

In the inner left lining, just below the armpit, I had sewn a small, hidden pocket for my travel notions.

Every tailor carries a basic kit.

In mine, I kept three heavy-duty steel T-pins, a small seam ripper, and a four-inch steel bodkin.

The bodkin was a thick, blunt needle used for threading elastic through casings.

It was made of tempered steel, strong enough to withstand significant pressure without bending.

I wiggled my fingers, testing the range of motion behind my back.

The handcuffs were tight, but the chain between them had about two inches of play.

If I arched my back and slid my left hand upward, I could just reach the edge of my coat’s inner seam.

The guard on the crate was still looking at his phone, his thumb flicking across the screen.

I began to work.