I check his pulse. It’s rapid but not wild. I check his wrists for marks—there are some, but they’re old, faded. His neck is worse. I reach up, brushing my thumb along the side of his throat, feeling the way he tenses under my touch. I don’t linger. I just need to know the boundaries.
“You’re safe for now,” I say.
He nods, but I can tell he doesn’t believe it.
The comm in my ear vibrates. “Status?”
“Event secure,” I reply, not mentioning that I have claimed one of the working stock as my own.
“Destination?”
“Home.”
I help Elliot to his feet. He moves easier this time, like he’s decided to survive a few more hours. That’s good. Compliance is easier when they haven’t given up.
We exit to the night, the air sharp, the city below indifferent. I flag a transport, program the route, and sit him beside me in the back seat. The car glides away from the curb, electric and silent.
He doesn’t speak for a long time. Finally, he says, “Why?”
I look at him, at the way his hands twist together, his knuckles white from pressure.
“Because I can,” I say.
It’s the truth, and also a lie.
The city swallows us whole, and behind us, the world turns, never stopping for the broken or the saved.
Chapter Two: Elliot
Hespeaksandthelow rumble in his voice jolts me out of my haze. “I’m Jace. You’re mine now.”
After his introduction, the car is silent except for the faint sound of the engine. I sit in the back because that's how they always want you: visible, compliant, easy to reach. Hands in my lap, spine pressed into the seat. The window is tinted to black, so the world outside is just blurs and neon smears, city lights streaking in a horizontal band as we move.
Jace doesn't look at me in the mirror. He doesn't even check. He drives with both hands on the wheel, never deviating, gaze fixed forward. The route is unfamiliar, but I map every turn in my head, every landmark, every numbered street sign or broken lamp. It's a habit from before, one that never leaves you no matter how hard they try to scrape it out.
He takes a left, then a right, then two more rights. I count the time between each turn, syncing it to my pulse. My pulse is fast. Too fast, but not enough to betray me outwardly, except for theshaking in my hands that I try to hide by squeezing them into fists. My nails cut into my palms, and I hope he doesn't notice.
They don’t like when we damage ourselves.
No, that’stheirjob.
How will this guy hurt me?
He doesn't say a word until we stop. The car slides up to the curb in front of a nondescript building—grey stone, six floors, iron security grate over the entry. The kind of place you could disappear in and never be found, if someone even cared enough to look.
The doors lock and unlock with a soft click. I expect an order, a gesture, but he just waits.
"Out," he says. The voice is neutral, not unkind but not kind. There is nothing inside it. If voices had color, his would be the color of black.
I fumble with the latch and step out. The city is cold tonight, colder than I expect, the wind biting through the thin cotton of my shirt. My feet are bare, still damp from the holding bath, and the concrete burns at first. I keep my eyes down.
He circles to the curb, coming to my side. I tense, expecting the grab, but he doesn't touch me. Instead, he presses the key fob and triggers the trunk, then moves to retrieve a duffel bag. He shoulders it, the motion so smooth it's clear he's done thishundreds of times. The bag isn't heavy for him, but it would be for me.
"Follow," he says, and starts up the steps without looking back.
I do. My right knee twinges, a sharp little flash from where I went down on the stairs last week. I limp, not enough to slow him, but enough that he'd notice if he was watching. Maybe he is, maybe he's already assessed the weakness and filed it for later.
The entry is silent, except for the sound of the security grate when it snaps shut behind us. The lobby is empty, just a row of mailboxes and a dying potted plant on the floor. There's an elevator, but he doesn't use it. He climbs the stairs, and I match his pace as best I can.
