"Distributed to the right people. Nothing public yet, but enough breadcrumbs that anyone looking will start to see the pattern." Briar settles into an armchair, long legs stretched toward the dying fire. "Abernathy reached out through back channels. He's willing to provide cover, but only if we can guarantee Webb won't be able to trace the leak back to him."
"He's scared," Jinx says, dropping onto the floor with his back against the wall. "They're all scared. Webb's been running his own little empire for years, and now people are starting to wonder what else he's been hiding."
Landon hovers near the doorway, clearly uncomfortable. His eyes keep darting to me, then away, like he's not sure whether to speak.
"You can ask," I tell him. "Whatever you're thinking. I won't bite."
He flushes. "Sorry. I just—I read your file. What Webb did to you in there. The neural extractions." He swallows. "I can't imagine going through that and still being able to sit upright and have a conversation."
"You'd be surprised what you can survive when you don't have a choice."
"That's not—" He stops, starts again. "That's not the same as being okay. You're not okay. You can't be."
My eyes burn, and I have to look away.
"No," I admit. "I'm not okay. But I'm alive. And right now, that's enough."
Landon nods slowly. Something in his posture softens.
"For what it's worth," he says, "I'm glad you made it out. Jace… you… it’s special. What you mean to each other." He glances at Briar, a quick, private look. "I know what it's like to find someone in the middle of all this darkness. To have them be the reason you keep going."
I don't know how to respond. The empathy is unexpected, coming from a stranger.
Jace answers for me. "Thank you. Both of you. For the risks you took."
"We didn't do it for thanks," Briar says. "We did it because the enemy of our enemy is our friend. And because watching Webb lose is its own reward."
"Speaking of Webb." Jinx pulls a knife from his boot, starts cleaning his nails with the tip. "What's the plan for making sure he doesn't come after us while you're hiding in the mountains playing house?"
"Jagger's handling the immediate fallout. Creating enough chaos that Webb has to focus on internal problems instead of external targets." Briar steeples his fingers. "The longer-term plan involves Protocol Omega. Whatever's in Moore's archive, it's important enough that multiple factions want it buried. If we can get to it first—"
"We have leverage," Jace finishes. "Real leverage. The kind that can shift the balance of power permanently."
"Exactly."
The conversation continues, but I find myself drifting. The voices blend together, technical details and strategic considerations washing over me like water.
My body is here, in this farmhouse, surrounded by people planning a revolution.
But part of me is still in that facility. Still strapped to a table. Still feeling the cold weight of the collar against my throat.
I wonder if that part of me will ever fully leave.
Later, after the others have dispersed to various corners of the house, Jace finds me standing at the kitchen window.
Night has fallen again. The world outside is dark and quiet, snow-covered fields stretching toward a tree line I can barely see.
"You should be resting," he says.
"I've been resting. I needed to move."
He joins me at the window, close enough that our shoulders almost touch.
"You're thinking about the facility."
It's not a question. He knows me well enough now to read the tension in my spine, the distant look in my eyes.
"I keep waiting for it to feel real," I say. "The escape. Being here. All of it. But it still feels like a dream. Like I'm going to wake up and be back on that table."
