"I don't know yet. But I know where to find out." He looks at me, and for the first time, I see something in his eyes that might be hope. "Help me get to Moore's archive after we deal with Webb. And I'll help you get your boy back."
"Deal."
We shake on it.
Landon stands, stretches, and moves toward the kitchen. "I'm finishing the risotto. We should eat before you go sleep. Can't overthrow a shadow government on an empty stomach."
"He always cooks when he's nervous," Briar explains.
"I cook because I like cooking. The nervous energy is a bonus." Landon's voice carries from the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of pots. "Also, you're both terrifying and I need to do something with my hands that isn't panicking."
I almost smile. Almost.
"He's good for you," I say.
Briar nods. "He's the reason I'm willing to risk everything. Before him, I was... functional. Competent. Loyal to the family, loyal to the system, loyal to everything I was trained to serve." He pauses. "And completely empty."
"I know the feeling."
"I thought you might." He stands, moves to the window, looks out at the mountains. "Webb thinks attachment is a flaw. A weakness to be exploited and eliminated. But he's wrong. It's the only thing that makes any of this matter. The only thing that makes us more than weapons. Or at the least… better ones."
My chest tightens.
"He's strong," I say. "Stronger than he knows. Webb is trying to break him, but he's built a wall around what we have. He's protecting it."
"Then we get him out before Webb finds a way through." Briar turns back to face me. "Forty-eight hours. Can you be ready?"
"I've been ready for fifteen years. I just didn't know what I was waiting for."
Chapter Fourteen: Elliot
Thetabletscreenflickersto life.
Jace's face fills the frame, and something in my chest splinters at the sight of him. He looks different. Harder somehow, like the edges of him have been sharpened by distance and desperation. There are shadows beneath his eyes, a tension in his jaw that speaks of sleepless hours.
"Hey." My name in his voice. An anchor in a sea of white noise.
"Hi." The words scrape out, thin and fractured. I try to sit straighter against the restraints, try to look less like something that's been hollowed out. "I'm still here."
Webb stands just out of frame, watching. Waiting.
"Forty-eight hours remain," Webb announces. "I trust you're making progress."
Jace's gaze never wavers from mine. "I am."
"Excellent. Then we have nothing further to discuss."
"Wait." The word rips out of me, raw and involuntary. "Please. Just one more minute."
Webb sighs, theatrical and weary. I watch him think about whether this serves his purposes, whether my desperation is useful to him.
"Thirty seconds," he decides.
Jace's expression shifts. Something flickers behind those grey eyes, something I've learned to recognize as the closest he gets to pain.
"I'm working on it," he says. His voice is careful, measured, stripped of anything Webb might use. "I haven't given up."
"I know." My throat burns. "I know you haven't."
