"There you are," he says.
"Here I am," I manage.
His mouth does something complicated. Not quite a smile. It’s something softer. Almost sad.
"Don't fall asleep yet. I need you to stay awake until we get somewhere safe and we can look over your injuries."
"Bossy."
"Always."
I let my head rest against his shoulder and focus on breathing. In. Out.The rhythm of his heartbeat against my cheek, steady and strong.
The van takes a sharp turn, throwing me against him. He absorbs the impact without flinching, adjusts his grip to keep me stable.
"How much longer?" he asks someone I can't see.
"Twenty minutes to the first safehouse." A voice I don't recognize. Male, tense. "Jinx is taking the long route to throw off any tails."
"And the facility?"
"Lockdown. Webb's screaming for blood, but he's in no shape to chase anyone. You did a number on him."
"Not enough of one."
The van hits a pothole. Pain lances through my ribs, sharp enough to make me gasp. Jace's hand moves to my side, probing gently.
"Bruised," he murmurs. "Maybe cracked. We'll check when we stop."
"Webb didn't—" I swallow. "He didn't hit me. It was the restraints. I pulled against them during the extractions."
Jace goes very still.
"Right."
"He… He made me relive things." I close my eyes, but that's worse—the memories are right there, waiting. I open them again. "Everything I tried to forget. Every bad thing that ever happened. He dragged it all out and made me watch."
Jace doesn't respond. But his arms tighten around me, and something in the quality of his silence tells me everything I need to know about what he's feeling.
"I held the wall," I whisper. "The thing you told me to protect. He couldn't get to it."
"I know." His voice is rough. "I knew you would."
"How?"
"Because you're stronger than anyone gives you credit for. Including yourself."
I don't feel strong. I feel dead inside, held together by nothing but the warmth of his body and the stubborn refusal to fall apart before we're somewhere safe.
But I let myself believe him anyway.
Just for a moment.
Just until the van stops and reality comes crashing back.
The safehouse is a farmhouse forty miles outside the city.
I don't remember much of the arrival. Hands helping me out of the van. Gravel crunching under feet that aren't mine. A door opening onto warmth and light and the smell of wood smoke.
