Then I'm on a couch, wrapped in blankets, and Jace is kneeling in front of me with a first aid kit.
"This might sting," he says, and presses an antiseptic wipe to my wrists.
It does sting. I hiss through my teeth but don't pull away.
The wounds are ugly. Deep grooves where the cuffs bit into skin, ringed with purple bruises and crusted with dried blood. Evidence of how hard I fought against the restraints, even when fighting was pointless.
"You should have stopped pulling," Jace says. His voice is neutral, restrained, but his hands are gentle as he cleans the wounds.
"Couldn't. During the extractions, I couldn't control it. My body just... reacted."
He nods. Wraps gauze around my left wrist, then my right. His fingers linger on my pulse point, counting beats.
"Your heart rate is elevated."
"I wonder why."
His eyes flick up to meet mine. Something passes between us, a current of understanding that doesn't require words.
"I'm going to check your ribs," he says. "I need you to lift your shirt."
I comply, peeling the thin fabric up to expose my torso. The bruising is worse than I expected—a mottled canvas of purple and yellow spreading across my left side.
Jace's jaw tightens as he examines the damage. His fingers probe carefully, pressing in increments, watching my face for signs of pain.
"Bruised," he concludes. "Nothing displaced, but you'll need to take it easy for a few weeks."
"A few weeks." I laugh, though nothing is funny. "Are we going to have a few weeks?"
"We're going to have whatever time I can buy us." He pulls my shirt back down, smooths the fabric against my stomach. "Right now, that means resting. Healing. Letting the others handle the logistics while you recover."
"The others?"
"Briar and Landon. Jagger and Jinx." He sits back on his heels, studying me. "We're not alone in this anymore."
I process this. Try to fit the information into a framework that makes sense.
"Briar Harrington. The one Webb wanted you to kill."
"The same."
"And you're working with him now."
"We have aligned interests."
I shake my head slowly, marveling at the absurdity of it all. A few hours ago, I was slated to die. Now I'm sitting in a farmhouse surrounded by people who've committed treason to save me.
"Why?" The question comes out before I can stop it. "Why would they risk everything for someone they don't even know?"
Jace is quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is softer than I've ever heard it.
"Because they understand what it means to find something worth risking everything for. And because destroying the system that hurt you is the same as destroying the system that hurt them."
"So I'm a symbol. A cause."
"No." He reaches out, cups my face in his palm. "You're a person. The first person who ever made me want something more. Myperson." His thumb traces my cheekbone. "You asked me once why I saved you. I didn't have an answer then. I do now."
"What is it?"
