"Where?" I ask.
"The cabin is compromised. They'll be watching it." Jinx pulls up a map on his phone. "But I have another place. Off-grid. No connection to any of us. A contact from the old days who owes me a favor."
"What kind of contact?"
"The kind who doesn't ask questions and has excellent security." He shows me the location. A farmhouse in the French countryside, hours from anywhere. "It's not pretty, but it's safe."
"How do you know we can trust them?"
"Because they hate the Ministry more than we do." Jinx's smile is sharp. "Some debts don't expire, brother. This one is finally being collected."
I stare at the map. At the dot marking our potential salvation. At the miles between here and there, each one a risk, each one a chance for something to go wrong.
"Okay," I say finally. "We move as soon as the doctor clears him for transport."
"And if she doesn't clear him?"
"Then we move anyway." I look down. "I'm not losing him to bureaucratic caution. We go. We survive. We figure out the rest later."
Jinx nods. Jace nods. The decision is made.
The machines keep beeping. The sun keeps rising, and somewhere out there, the Ministry is hunting us, driven by the death of one of their own.
I don’t give a rats ass.
I've already shown them what I'm capable of when someone threatens what's mine.
Next time, there won't be anyone left to report back.
Jonah wakes at noon.
I'm still sitting beside him, still holding his hand, still wearing the same blood-crusted clothes. I should have showered. Should have changed. But every time I tried to leave, my body refused to cooperate.
His eyes flutter open. Unfocused at first, swimming with confusion and drugs. Then they find me, and something in them settles.
"Hey, Daddy J," he rasps.
"Hey."
"You look terrible."
"And you look just wonderful yourself." I chuckle.
"That's fair." He tries to shift, winces. "How bad?"
"Straight through. Missed everything important. You'll be fine in a few weeks."
"A few weeks?" His laugh turns into a cough. "We don't have a few weeks."
"We have what we have." I squeeze his hand. "The doctor says you were lucky."
"Lucky." He stares at the ceiling. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"What would you call it?"
"Stupid. Impulsive. Completely fucking idiotic." He turns his head to look at me. "But I'd do it again."
"I know. That's what terrifies me."
