"Your point?"
"My point is that I've never seen you like that. None of us have. You're the strategic one, remember? The planner. The one who thinks ten steps ahead." He reaches across the bed, grips my arm. "What happened in there wasn't strategy. It was slaughter. You became exactly what they always wanted us to be. Mechanical, empty."
"They shot him."
"I know."
"They were going to kill us both. Webb was going to take us back, erase us.” My voice is steady, but something underneath is cracking. “I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let them take him."
"So you killed everyone who got in your way."
"Yes."
Jace is quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nods.
"Good."
I look up, surprised.
"They shot the man you love," he says simply. "They deserved what they got. I would have done the same for Elliot. Jinx would have done the same for..." He trails off, shrugs. "For whoever he decides to care about someday."
"It was excessive."
"It was necessary. There's a difference." He releases my arm. "You're not broken, Jagger. You're a man who found something worth protecting. That's not weakness. That's the only thing that makes any of this worth a damn."
The machines beep. Jonah's chest rises and falls. Outside the window, the sun is rising.
"The vault was empty," I say. "Webb knew we were coming. Someone tipped him off."
"Vasquez?"
"Maybe. Or maybe he had surveillance we didn't know about." I shake my head. "It doesn't matter. The records are gone. We're back to nothing."
"Not nothing." Jace pulls out his phone, shows me the screen. "Jinx grabbed this from one of the operatives. Encrypted, but he's working on breaking it. There might be something useful."
"That's a long shot."
"Long shots are all we have right now."
The door opens again. Jinx this time, slipping in with two cups of coffee. He hands one to Jace, sets the other on the table beside me.
"How's sleeping beauty?"
"Stable."
"Good. Because we have a problem." He drops into a chair, sprawling with his usual disregard for furniture. "Ministry chatter is going insane. They're mobilizing."
"How long?"
"Before they find this clinic? Twenty-four hours. Maybe less." He meets my eyes. "We need to move him, Jagger. As soon as he can travel."
"He just got out of surgery."
"And he'll be back in surgery—or worse—if the Ministry finds us here." Jinx's voice is uncharacteristically serious. "I know you don't want to hear this. But we have to go. Soon."
I look at Jonah. At his pale face, his bandaged side, the IV line feeding fluids into his arm. Moving him now could tear the stitches. Could cause complications. Could kill him.
But staying here willdefinitelykill him.
