Jinx's eyes close. A muscle jumps in his jaw. "Asher..."
"He told me to go. Told me to save you." My voice breaks. Shatters. All the control I've been holding onto crumbles, and suddenly I'm crying, ugly and raw, tears cutting tracks through the dirt and blood on my face. "He told me to go and I went and now he's dead and I don't know if I made the right choice. I don't know if I can live with this choice."
"Hey." Jinx's hand finds my face. Cold fingers against my cheek, weak but present. "Hey. Look at me."
I look.
His eyes are steady despite the pain. Despite the blood loss. Despite everything. Dark and burning and so fucking alive that it makes my chest crack open.
"You made the right choice."
"You don't know that."
"I know you're here. I know I'm still breathing." His thumb wipes at the tears on my cheek, smearing blood and salt together. "That's not nothing, Asher."
"I left him to die."
"You let him die on his terms. In control of his ending. Not strapped to a table in some facility, not bleeding out alone in the dark." Jinx's voice is getting weaker, but his eyes never leavemine. "You gave him a choice. In our world, that's a gift. That's the best any of us can hope for."
"It's not enough."
"It never is." His hand falls from my face, the effort too much. "But it's what we've got. And Dom knew that. He made his choice knowing the odds. Don't dishonor that by pretending he was a victim. He was a soldier. He died like one."
I want to argue. Want to scream that nobility and choice don't mean shit when you're bleeding out in a sewer, that I should have stayed, should have found another way, should have done anything other than walk away.
But Jinx is dying too. Right here, right now, in a maintenance shed surrounded by rat shit and failed rescue attempts.
If I fall apart, if I let the grief consume me, I'll lose him too.
I can't lose them both.
Not tonight.
"We need to move." I wipe my face, force the soldier back into place. "Jagger, what's our exit?"
The comm crackles. "South fence. Hole cut at grid reference seven. I've got the van moving to intercept. Five minutes."
"Copy. We're moving."
Marlee is already hauling Thiago up, his arm over her shoulders, his weight heavy against her side. I turn to Jinx, slide my arms under his knees and behind his back.
"This is going to hurt."
"Everything hurts. Just do it."
I lift him. He bites back a scream, his body going rigid, fresh blood seeping through the bandages. His head falls against my shoulder, and his breath is hot and wet against my neck.
"Stay with me," I tell him. "You hear me? Stay with me."
"Trying."
"Try harder."
We move out. Through the shed door, across the grounds, toward the south fence. Marlee leads with Thiago, her rifle up despite the weight she's carrying. Behind us, sirens wail and searchlights sweep the darkness. The facility is in full lockdown now, guards swarming, vehicles mobilizing, helicopters spinning up in the distance.
We're running out of time.
Jinx is heavy in my arms. Dead weight. His head lolls against my shoulder, and his breathing is so shallow now that I have to concentrate to feel his chest rise and fall. The blood from his wound soaks into my shirt, warm and wet, a constant reminder of what's at stake.
