Chapter Fifteen Jace #2
We never questioned the official story. We were too young, too conditioned, too focused on surviving our own training to wonder about the circumstances of his death.
"You think his death wasn't an accident."
"I think a lot of things weren't what they seemed." Jagger's expression hardens. "And I think Moore's archive might have the answers. But that's a problem for after we get Elliot out."
"Agreed."
"Jace." He grabs my arm, stops me from turning away. "Whatever happens in there tonight, remember you're not just fighting for Elliot. You're fighting for all of us. For the chance to be something other than what they made us."
I nod. I don't have words for what I'm feeling so I just grab his forearm and squeeze.
"I'll get him out," I say. "Or I'll die trying."
"I know you will." Jagger releases my arm. "That's what terrifies me."
We move at 0130.
The body bag is military grade, designed to preserve biological evidence during transport. Inside it, Briar lies motionless, his vital signs suppressed to near-extinction by the sedative coursing through his system.
I carry him over my shoulder through the service entrance of the office building. The security guard barely glances at my credentials—priority clearance, do not obstruct—before waving me through.
The elevator descends three floors below street level. The doors open onto a corridor of polished concrete and recessed lighting, sterile and cold.
I've been in places like this before. Dozens of them. Facilities designed to process human beings like inventory, to extract value from flesh and bone and fear.
I never thought twice about it. Never questioned whether the people in the cells deserved to be there, whether the methods used against them were justified, whether the system I served was worth serving.
Elliot changed that.
Elliot changed everything.
The checkpoint guard scans my credentials, then the body bag's barcode. His eyebrows rise.
"Briar Harrington. The Director's been waiting for this one."
"Where is he?"
"Interrogation suite. Level two. He's with the asset."
With Elliot. Webb is with Elliot right now, probably conducting another extraction session, probably tearing through memories I should have protected him from.
I keep my face neutral. My voice flat. "Take me to him."
The guard leads me through another checkpoint, another corridor, another set of sealed doors. The facility is quiet at this hour, most of the cells dark, their occupants sedated or sleeping or simply too broken to make noise.
I count the doors. 7-A. 7-B. 7-C.
We stop.
The guard presses his palm to the scanner. The door slides open.
White walls, white lights, a metal table in the center of the room. Elliot lies strapped to the surface, electrodes attached to his temples, his face slack and pale.
Webb stands beside him, studying a monitor that displays patterns I recognize as neural activity maps.
He turns when I enter. His smile is the same wound it's always been.
"Reaper. You're early." His gaze drops to the body bag on my shoulder. "And you brought a gift."
I lower Briar to the floor, unzip the bag enough to reveal his face. The sedative has done its work: his skin is waxy, his lips faintly blue, his chest utterly still.
Webb crouches, presses two fingers to Briar's throat. Holds them there for a long moment.
"No pulse." He sounds almost impressed. "How did you do it?"
"Does it matter?"
"Professional curiosity." He stands, wipes his fingers on a handkerchief. "Briar Harrington was one of our best. I always wondered what it would take to bring him down."
"Everyone has a weakness."
"Indeed they do." Webb's gaze shifts to Elliot on the table. "Your weakness is right here. Strapped down and compliant, just waiting for you to make a mistake."
My hands ache to close around his throat. To squeeze until his eyes bulge and his face turns purple and the life drains out of him the way it drained out of the two hundred and seventeen people I've killed in service to this organization.
But the transmitter is in his pocket. And Briar isn't awake yet. And Elliot is still wearing the collar.
Patience. Calculation. Control.
"The deal was Briar's body in exchange for Elliot's release," I say. "I've delivered. Now it's your turn."
Webb laughs. The sound echoes off the white walls.
"Oh, Jace. Did you really think it would be that simple?"
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the transmitter. His thumb hovers over the button.
"The deal was a test. A way to see how far your malfunction had progressed. And the results are..." He shakes his head, almost sadly. "Conclusive. You're beyond repair. The only question now is whether to terminate you here or take you back to the Foundry for study."
"And Elliot?"
"Asset 437 has served its purpose. The data I've extracted from him will be invaluable for improving future conditioning protocols." Webb's smile widens. "But the asset itself is no longer necessary."
My eyes narrow as Elliot whimpers, drawing Webb’s attention for long enough that I’m able to inject the adrenaline straight into his neck.
Webb snarls at Elliot to shut the fuck up. Almost in slow-motion, his thumb moves toward the button.
Behind him, inside the body bag, Briar's eyes snap open.
"Now," I say.
Everything happens at once.
Briar erupts from the bag, knife already in hand, lunging for the guard at the door. Webb spins, thumb pressing down on the transmitter—
I'm faster.
My hand closes around his wrist, twisting, forcing the device loose in his hand. Webb snarls, tries to pull free, but I've got leverage and fifteen years of training on my side.
The transmitter clatters to the floor.
I kick it across the room, away from Webb's reach, and drive my elbow into his face. Cartilage crunches. Blood sprays. He staggers backward, and I'm on him before he can recover, fist connecting with his jaw, his ribs, his solar plexus.
He goes down. Kicking him in the temple, ensuring he’s out cold, I start looking for the transmitter.
Behind me, I hear Briar finishing with the guard—a wet gurgle, a body hitting the floor.
Finding it under a medical table, I study the controls. Three buttons, color-coded. Red for termination. Yellow for paralysis. Green for pain.
There's a fourth button, smaller, unmarked.
I press it.
The collar around Elliot's neck clicks and falls away.
He gasps, eyes tracking me, hands clutching at his throat where the metal used to be. His gaze finds mine, wild and disoriented.
"Jace? Jace is that really you?"
"I'm here." I cross to him, start working on getting the restraints off. "I'm here. We're getting out."
"Webb—"
"Handled."
On the floor, Webb groans, trying to push himself upright. I glance at Briar, who's wiping his blade clean on the guard's uniform.
"We need to move," Briar says. "The distraction won't hold much longer. Should we kill him?"
“Nah, I don’t have time to do the things he deserves right now.”
I undo the last restraint and pull Elliot off the table. He collapses against me, legs barely able to hold his weight, body trembling with exhaustion and shock.
"Can you walk?"
"I don't—I'll try—"
"Good enough."
I wrap his arm around my shoulders, taking most of his weight. Briar moves to the door, checks the corridor, signals all clear.
Behind us, Webb laughs. Blood bubbles between his teeth.
"You think this changes anything?" He coughs, spraying red across the white floor. "You're still marked. All of you. The Silent never forgets. Never forgives. You'll spend the rest of your lives running, and one day—one day I'll find you—"
I turn. Level my gaze at the man who made me, who trained me, who thought he owned me.
"You won't find us," I say. "But if you do, I'll finish what I started tonight."
"Jace." Briar's voice is urgent. "Now."
I turn my back on Webb and half-carry Elliot out of the room.
The corridor stretches ahead, sterile and endless. Alarms begin to wail. Red lights flash. Footsteps pound somewhere in the distance, converging on our position.
"Left at the junction," Briar says, taking point. "Service elevator is fifty meters."
Elliot's legs keep buckling. I adjust my grip, pulling more of his weight onto my shoulder. He's lighter than he should be, lighter than when I last held him. Webb's hospitality has cost him pounds he didn't have to spare.
"Stay with me," I tell him. "We're almost out."
"Jace." His voice is a rasp. "The collar. You got it off."
"I got it off."
"I thought—" He breaks off, shuddering. "I thought I was going to die in there. I thought you'd have to watch."
"That was never an option."
We reach the junction. Briar checks both directions, signals left. We move.
Two guards appear at the far end of the corridor, weapons raised. Briar doesn't hesitate, he grabs his gun. Two shots, suppressed, both men dropping before they can return fire. He steps over their bodies without breaking stride.
"Elevator's ahead. Thirty seconds."
Twenty seconds later, a door bursts open to our right. Three more guards, fully armored, already firing.
I throw myself and Elliot behind a support pillar as bullets tear through the space where we'd been standing. Briar returns fire from the opposite wall, pinning two of them down.
The third flanks, coming at us from an angle I can't cover without exposing Elliot.
I pull my knife.
The guard rounds the pillar, weapon raised. I'm under his arm before he can adjust, blade finding the gap between his helmet and body armor. He drops.
"Move!" Briar shouts.
We run. Elliot's feet barely touch the ground, I'm practically carrying him now, his body limp against mine, consciousness fading.
The elevator doors slide open. We pile inside. Briar hits the button for street level, and the car lurches upward.
Elliot slumps against the wall, eyes unfocused. I crouch beside him, hands on his face, checking his pupils.
"Hey. Look at me. We're almost out."
"Tired," he mumbles. "So tired."
"I know. Just a little longer. Can you do that for me?"
His gaze sharpens, finds mine. The depths of his soul dance in the gold flecks.
"For you," he says. "Yeah. I can do that."
The elevator dings. The doors open onto a service corridor, dim and empty. Briar leads the way toward an exit sign glowing red in the darkness.
Behind us, theres shouts, more footsteps, the clang of the stairwell door being thrown open. They're tracking us. We have minutes at best.
We burst through the exit into the cold night air. A black van idles at the curb, side door already sliding open. Landon's face appears in the gap, pale and terrified.
"Get in get in get in—"
I lift Elliot into the vehicle, climb in after him. Briar throws himself through the door as Jinx floors the accelerator. Landon is already on his laptop, changing the traffic lights and setting off store alarms to create chaos.
He’s quite useful for being such a nerd.
Tires scream. The van fishtails, then straightens, hurtling down the empty street.
Behind us, the Morrison Building recedes into the darkness.
I pull Elliot onto my lap, wrap my arms around him, press my face into his hair. He smells like antiseptic and fear and something underneath that's still him, still the person I crossed every line to save.
"You came," he whispers against my chest. "You actually came."
"I told you I would."
"I know." His fingers curl into my shirt, gripping like he'll never let go before they loosen and his eyes flutter shut.. "I just wasn't sure I believed it."
I hold him tighter. Outside, the city blurs past, streetlights smearing into ribbons of gold.
We're not safe yet. Webb is still alive. The Ministry is still hunting us. The world is still full of monsters and shadows and people who see us as property to be owned.
But right now, in this moment, Elliot is in my arms. Breathing. Alive. Free.
And I’ll do it all again and again just for this moment right now.