“Thank me,” he says again.
I do. I always do now.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He lets my head go and it thuds tothe floor.
I am on the floor in Jace’s apartment, curled so tight my spine feels like it might snap. My body is damp with sweat and tears, but I don’t make a sound. If I make a sound, it will never stop.
My face is mashed against the carpet. I can see each fiber, each fleck of grit and old skin. My arms are wrapped around my legs, hands locked together. My fingers are so cold I can’t feel them.
My heart is running at double speed, like it’s trying to escape my chest.
I stare at the wall and wait for the next hand to grab me.
But nothing does.
The silence is a new kind of violence.
My stomach lurches and I gag, but there’s nothing in me to bring up. I lick the inside of my cheek, searching for blood, but all I taste is the ghost of memories.
I drift in and out. The line between memory and now is thin as a breath.
I don’t know how long it is before the door opens.
Jace enters without a sound. The air around him is colder than the apartment, the pressure of his presence instantly crushing. His steps are silent, deliberate. He kneels beside me, eyes level with mine.
He doesn’t touch me. He waits. The room is so quiet I can hear his breathing.
He says, “You’re safe, now.”
But my body doesn’t believe it.
He studies me, the way you’d study a wounded animal, looking for signs of madness or rabies. His hand hovers at my shoulder, then lowers, but still doesn’t make contact.
“Elliot,” he says. He never uses my name. Not until now.
His voice is a lifeline, but it also yanks me under.
I flinch away, but the wall is there, no room to move. My hands come up in front of my face, palms open, a gesture I learned in the Auction, the way you show them you won’t fight.
He leans in, slow, never breaking eye contact.
“I’m going to touch your shoulder,” he says. “To make sure you’re here.”
He waits for a reaction. I can’t give him one.
He moves his hand, so slow I could count each hair on his arm. When he finally places it on my shoulder, the heat is immediate, burning through the shirt. It’s not pain. Not exactly. It’s just more than my body can hold.
The pressure of his hand is enough to bring everything crashing back.
I scream. Not a word, not a plea, just pure noise. It bursts out of me like a rupture, raw and animal. My throat tears on the first note. My ears ring.
Jace doesn’t flinch, but his face changes. I see, for the first time, something like shock. Like he didn’t expect me to have that much voice left.
I scream until my chest caves in, until there’s nothing left but a whimper.
Then I collapse. The floor is a raft. The world spins in tight, dark circles.
