Sanctuary

[Jay Carpenter]

Continued at: Pieces

[Natalie Grey]

The list of individuals with access to this number was short indeed. Ryker himself only shared it with exceptional rarity. When the wallet alerted him to a caller, one assumption tipped his mind toward answering habitually. Until he saw the country-code of origin. More curious than anything, he muted all sounds of his environment and entered the call in safe mode. Visuals were minimized and the periphery obscured should the caller enter screen-connection. "It must be middle of the night for you," the depths of his voice answered.

---

“It is? I hadn’t noticed.” She smirked, not that he would see it. The dry cut of her humour was indolent, her gaze brushing against the shadows whizzing past Cay's face, or what she could see of it. Not exactly where she expected to be in the early hours of the morning.

Visual connection did not engage automatically, a setting she adjusted as standard (much to Eleanor's chagrin). But he would hear the purr of the engine, currently rolling at a smooth cruise, and beneath that the bare murmur of piano music soft through the speakers. She wasn’t sure she had truly expected him to pick up, perhaps because this wasn’t a contingency she had imagined actually using when she had asked Alvis for the information back at the diner.

“Apparently you weren’t easy to find.” No external sounds muffled around his voice, no incidental noises like one might expect. He might as well have been in a vacuum. Unusual security procedures, for a simple phone call, but then she did not suspect him of ordinariness. Her intention hinged on the fact he was a Custody man, albeit one with shady connections. Though it wasn’t like Natalie had ever made a habit of shying back from the darkness. The duality was precisely the lure that stuck her hand into such a maw, hopeful the bite would not be too hard. All men had a price. The foreign trill of Brandon's laughter echoed in the back of her mind.

She did not offer her name, though she had no reason to expect him to remember her, let alone recognise her by voice. Part of that coyness was of power for power's sake, meaningless repartee for yanking her hand at the ball. The rest was curiosity. He did not strike her as patient.

---

"And yet you found me," he responded, a twinge of amusement on his voice. Either the caller was abundently resourceful or had friends in high places. "I'm flattered you put forth the effort, Miss Northbrook." Certainly he recognized her voice, and there were few of such posh accents likely to reach out from the United States. The departure of Jay Carpenter wasn't top-secret, either. He noticed the salivating fury seething from Zacarías Amengual the moment he laid eyes on the American. As remaining in the drug lord's good graces and ridding himself of the complication that was Jay Carpenter from the inner rungs of Ascendancy's channeling pool was advantageous to his desires at the moment, awareness of their movements was informative. In his vocation, information was power.

He remembered her at the ball, hovering and watching like a tigress lazily stalking boring grass. They clasped hands upon introductions. He could still feel the velvet of her arm when his hand slid up the wrist; the tension in her muscles as she retracted from his reach. He'd cross the ocean if finding her again duplicated the shadow of disgust in her eyes that he found compulsively addictive. Maybe he should journey abroad. He loathed the United States. .. Aid Amengual in his efforts in Texas... 

"What can I do for you? And what do I get in return?"

---

“You should be, actually.” The effort had not been without a cost, after all. The dry hum of her laughter held little amusement for such a transactional world, a dismayingly clear reflection of the way her father had always seen things. She’d wield those cynical tools if she had to, but it didn’t gladden her to do it.

Brandon did not care much for morality. If he was aware of Ryker’s interest in the cartel it was unlikely to matter to him on anything but a hierarchical level. Legality was but a whim for those who made the rules, after all, and Amengual’s ticket to the fundraiser spoke of a sanction that did not suggest the endeavour was considered clandestine. But Natalie had yet to meet a man who took kindly to the undermining of his authority, least of all when that authority peaked an empire.

Jay hadn’t been plucked from obscurity like the other dominions, and by the way they had worked at the ball she guessed he was the only trained soldier among them. It made him valuable. Such marked elevation caused ripples like a stone chucked unceremoniously into a pool of still water amongst the elite gathered that night. The vultures lined up to tear him bloody from that new perch, and climb themselves upon the bones of conquest. She doubted Ryker was any different; such were the people Brandon so often chose to surround himself with. But they were firm foundations, at least, to build upon such a fragile house of cards. Firm enough for the risk, anyway.

“Nothing, I suspect. At least nothing you’d part with willingly.” More to the point, she had nothing he could possibly want enough to give her anything she needed in return. Pride stung the steel of her spine, but no hesitation would have prevented such desperation if she’d thought it might have fallen on receptive ears. Probably he would just enjoy the begging.

“Rather I thought you might consider the possibility we’re sharing the same sinking raft.” The appearance of divided loyalties carried a weight Jay knew all too well himself. She had watched Ryker guide Zacarías’s gaze. She had watched the burn of that stare, wondering why at the time it boiled so furiously. Hindsight unravelled that mystery at least. “Nikolai threatened my family should I return without his weapon. Imagine the wrath he would rain down upon the man he discovered to have tied the noose around Jay Carpenter’s neck. A valuable asset to the Custody, given up in a bid to curry another’s favour. You two seemed close. It’d be a long fall from grace.”

---

Ryker’s voice purred enlightment. “Ahh. I see. Helping you is to help myself, and an arrogant son of a bitch like me is only out for himself.” Humor lilted his tone, but the directionality darted like the arrows stuck in the necks of unwitting channelers, and she was a pretty target. 
 
He was quiet a moment, seeming to contemplate the notion. Traitorous blood coursed Natalie’s veins; a trait she seemed to share with her new companion. Ryker cared nothing of betrayal to the Custody. They already burned the end of his rope and let him fall helpless from the frayed ends. Scars coursed his body as proof. His motivations were already a cauldron of lies, discord and betrayal. For all his hatred of Nikolai Brandon, there was admiration as well. “You think Brandon doesn’t already know that? You think he isn’t allowing this to happen to you both? He was the one that sent you abroad, yes? Only by his grace did he allow the departure; arranged it, even. So seemingly easy to attain, wasn’t it?” 
 
“Missiles are spent in war. Make no mistake about his altruism, Brandon wages war. The loss of one walking weapon is a sacrifice if it wins him the territory he wants. Look around you. What do you see? Who are the combatants on the field? Now toss a walking bomb into the middle of it. What do you think will happen?”
 
He gave her a moment to do just that. They were exactly where Brandon wanted them. Jensen James, on the other hand, was probably the greater value than ten Carpenters, the gifts rarer. 
 
“What do you need? Maybe I’ll give it to you because the cause aligns with my own; maybe I won’t, but I will listen to you ask nicely.”

---

“You’re suggesting yourself to be an exemplary model to the rest of us?” Doubt circled sharp amusement. She didn’t spare herself the aspersion. Natalie would watch everything burn before she let go of her ideals, consequences damned to ash, forgiveness never sought. She’d suffered too much loss to truly fear the blade of repercussion, at least when it tested the flesh of her own neck. If anything he said was true, it didn’t glimmer much surprise. Maybe she’d been sitting so long behind the bars of a cage that the sense of a trap bounced dully off her skin. It was something to parse through, but later.

“I think Brandon knows the value of honey before vinegar. We’ll find out, I suppose.” Truthfully she didn’t care for the toxic spread of the Custody’s domination, nor Brandon’s machinations. Hers was not a tireless climb to the top of the pile. The hint of a larger picture was periphery; fact to wield as weapon or shield, maybe. But the precious line of her horizon was much nearer.

She had no premeditated demand. Something so simple as a transaction was not why she had called; rather, it had been a fumble into darkness, seeking a match struck against the possibility of mutual convenience. But he was being difficult, and she didn’t have time for the game. Quiet reigned for a moment of consideration. Need was a weapon he asked her to arm him with under a thin guise of hope, dangling like a string for a kitten. At best it was pointless to ask anything at all. At worst it was dangerous.

“Then I would ask you nicely to convince Amengual to spare Jay’s sister. I’ve seen enough of dead children, Ryker.”

Even if he possessed such a leash to control the senseless revenge of a bloody predator, he had no reason to do it. She might as well fling that wish into the void and wait for intervention from the divine as to ask it of him. But the bounty had already been set. The score of those last words cut like a scrape against bone, though if it was a vulnerability she revealed of herself it was hardly a secret.

---

In the end, she asked nicely. Ryker mused over the tone, sparse of desperation as it was. Background noises filled their microphones in the absence of speech. The purr of a modern engine, the ventilation of air, the thrumming of piano chords. Conclusions implied a vehicle, logic pieced together the circumstances. He thoughtfully rolled his fingers, seconds ticking away with indecision.

"I'll ask him," Ryker finally said, but where humor drained away like the slow drip of a bloody wound, something more sinister filled the void. He began to laugh.

From his end of the line, silence reigned until exactly that moment when safe-mode was lifted. Noise suddenly muffled the background - clinking of dishes, voices, laughter. His own laughter dominant.

"Better yet, ask him yourself."

A velvety voice joined the call like a demon summoned from their convocation. 
"Buenas noches, señorita."
----------------
wirtten with Ryker

[Jensen James]

He tossed and turned for hours despite bone-weary exhaustion. The outline of Jessika’s plan replayed like a bad song stuck in his head, and he was sure she shared only a small part of it. What was described terrified Jensen. He had no idea her scope aimed so high or that the lust for power gripped her soul so sinfully. He worried about the boys, that they would become targets soon. He should stay with them, but duty called a siren song to the east. Ascendancy would likely allow the children entrance to Moscow if Jensen asked, but he could not rip them from their mother. For all of Jessika’s flaws, she was a loving mother.

He was trapped, which was why he finally decided to get up and walk about the house for a while. He’d only barely opened the bedroom door when he heard soft knocking on another nearby. When he looked, he witnessed the outline of a man enveloped by the dim lights of Jessika’s room. She let someone in?

He hung his head, hating that he just stared at the door, but neither capable of ripping himself away from it. Shame and anger stirred up long-settled dust from his soul, but while he thought he came to accept their circumstances for what they were, Jessika was unwilling to divorce him. Yet she had needs. Everyone desired to be desired, and she was a young, beautiful woman. Strangely, a twist of jealousy yanked his guts. He could interrupt them and make demands that Jessika hold to her wedding vows if their commitment was to be upheld.

Irritated (mostly at himself), he knew what she would say. He went back to bed.

[Natalie Grey]

Expecting the heat of a burn was not like feeling it sear at flesh. Cold flooded her stomach at the sound of that disembodied laughter, until -- like a sharp jerk of the hand -- the peripheral sounds flushed in. Another voice joined, smooth as silk across a blade’s edge. Her chest tightened; the sick surprise blossoming to anger. Her expression emptied from habit, nonetheless glad for the privacy afforded by old patterns of routine. Her fingers squeezed the wheel, not from disappointment so much as frustration. At herself. There was no time to reassemble her thoughts.

“I suppose it does make things simpler, Ryker. I’m not sure I’d place charm among your merits.” The words scathed like ash. Dismissal had stung a petty insult from him last time; an effort she doubted he’d have expended unless it had bothered him.

Still, being shoved so unceremoniously into a corner armed Natalie for the recklessness of a war that was not even hers to fight. The knot in her stomach calcified to steel, emotion buried somewhere deep. When Jay confessed by the lakeside she had agreed Zacarías was right to want his revenge. She’d seen the churn of fury in his eye at the ball; knew no logic would sway that animal side of man from seeking the bloodiest of resolutions. She did not blame the heat of his passion. But neither could she let him have it.

Did he know yet?

Promises burned in the back of her mind. The sensible thing would be to hang up, and yet she didn’t. Pride or morbid curiosity; arrogance or stupidity. Jay already considered her tarnished by the association, though she hadn’t truly taken those concerns seriously. She wouldn't run. “Zacarías. Forgive my paltry Spanish. We did not get the chance for proper introductions at the ball.”

---

Zacarías vaguely remembered the woman with whom he now spoke. A beauty, but there were many that night. His attentions were focused on players of power within the room. Not until Ryker drew his attention did his awareness skim her surface. 
"And it is my misfortune. When next we meet, I will ask to dance." He will expect her immediate agreement, certainly, because what a dancer he was, too. Jungle suns blazed from his eyes when he partnered with a woman, air ripping over her shoulders as they writhed across the floor. For the Latin, dance was sex on their feet for all to watch and lust. He enjoyed the spectacle with the most mediocre of partners. With Natalie, however, the hunger bore deep. She who was once held in his arms now clenched firmly in his own. It was only a matter of time.
"I am told you have a question of me."

---

She remembered him far more vividly than she imagined he had cause to recall her. Sleek hair and dark-bearded cheeks, jewels dripping gaudy from every finger, but it was the sharp and calculated gaze above the rim of a crystal champagne flute that burned clearest in her memory. The patience of a predator in long grass.

The voice drifting through the speakers was deep and musical. Maybe it was only the lateness of the hour that jarred the disparity of such innocuous words, but the veneer of civility disguised the promise of something darker, like the shiver of an unwanted touch. She wondered how much protection her blood really afforded her. Her grandfather had held his office since the days of the ASU; he was one of the foremost pillars in the Custody’s earliest foundations. Natalie was no golden child, but Zacarías Amengual, of all men, knew well enough the fires stoked in pursuit of familial vengeance. Ryker’s suggestions made her consider for the first time the potential height of this man’s ambitions. Would he risk Edward Northbrook’s enmity by causing her harm? Such clumsy politicking would earn little regard in Brandon’s eyes, and nor would it be likely to phase the gears of expansion. Should one pawn thank elevation by stamping cracks through the rockbed of his empire, Brandon might simply find a new head upon which to fit the crown.

That’s a lot of assumption, Natalie.

“When next we meet? Such disappointingly vague promises.”

She could question Axel. He’d facilitated the original transaction, after all. But Amengual was where the line ended, and it was his whim controlling the reins -- at least insofar as Jay’s fate was concerned. He’d even said it himself. She glanced at where the dart Cayli had found rested on the dash. Felt the claws digging in her chest. Jay was where he planned to be, she presumed. He didn’t want her protection, and given the flimsy leverage she had to work with she risked making things worse. The rationale didn’t seem to penetrate far. She’d promised to keep Cayli safe. She hadn’t said anything about herself.

“Would you have me petition you for something you will not give? I’m not keen on begging.” Probably he’d already heard. Probably the soft velvet of his laughter had unfurled at the request. She did not mistake compassion as the vehicle pumping ambition in Zacarías’s chest, not for this cause, not even for the life of a child. Even in Africa, leg spilling red, unable to haul himself away from the gunfire, Natalie had not seen fear in Jay’s expression. Not like the look on his face when he’d clapped eyes on Amengual. So no, Zacarías might not choose to harm her. It did not mean she could not be used as leverage.

Her own heart sped sickly at the recklessness of thoughts beginning to form.

“Least of all on a line lacking all apparent privacy.” The words bit sharp, assuming a silent listener remained. “You would agree words have more potency in person?”

---

"At the beginning, all people says they will not beg. By the end, they always do," he said.
Inexperience held to the ignorant dream of pride, but inflict enough pain, press all the right nerves, and even the most hardened of steel spines will break and bow. She was no different than any other fragile, emotional creature. "Your friend will beg also. It is a matter of fact. I expect no less," he said. A shrug tipped his shoulder absent of revolutionary epiphany, bland as though he described the color of the ocean when all knew it to be blue. Love weakened men; the more to lose, the more to fear. 

Surprisingly, she stretched forth some of that strong spine, baring vulnerable nerves to showcase her fearlessness. The trait was admirable: bravery. "I agree with your statement. What do you have in mind, my dear?"

---

Zacarías was matter of fact. Natalie doubted none of it, even as it cooled chills in her chest; a glimpse into the jaws of a possible future. Such unemotive commentary on the nature of human behaviour was not unfamiliar to her; the words might easily have come from her own father. No denials brushed her lips in response. He misunderstood. She had not said she would not beg, only that she would not do so an ocean away, its potency lost to soundwaves. A breadcrumb trail. The breathy pulse of something captured, and the first indication of something desperate, fanned like blood in waves.

The hesitation stung silence from her, a calculated pause. It was not unusual for others to read Natalie as delicate. She allowed Evelyn to think it; the woman at the truck stop, too. The misdirection might not be necessary, but it never hurt either, for him to believe naivety hid beneath the haughty arrogance of her birth. “That you agree to listen to me, face to face.”

---

Women were ferocious creatures. Zacarías knew it for himself first hand. Corner a woman and she wilts and dies or she fights like a panther and God help anyone who put her in such a position. While he did not recall much specifically about this particular woman, the flash of her picture pulled from some online profile reconstituted an echo of memory. She was with him. Love; attachment; loyalty. Whatever it was that connected the Natalie with Jay, he did not underestimate the power of such bonds. She reached through time and space to beg for a child, but it wasn’t for the girl that she was really pleading. 

“Let me tell you a story, Señorita. In the time after your friend murdered my brother, my business suffered. There were some in my organization who thought to pick a ripe fruit, low-hanging, for anyone willing to reach for it.”

“One such gentleman was a man named Umberto Samiento. His operations oversaw our exports into Mexico with many years of great success.” Natalie would not see it, but Zacarías shook his head sadly. So many years wasted. “Umberto thought to form alliances without my support. Hiding deals with my products from me. Stealing from me. Do you understand the gravity of this betrayal? My brother was godfather to Umberto’s unborn child.” A thin veil of disgust shadowed his voice, the teeth tighter, the jaw fastened square.

Wherever they were, he did not fear the telling of this story in public area. “The day after their child was born, I visited the new parents.” It was a sunny day, he recalled. The birth was apparently smooth, or so he was told, and took place entirely at home. 

He firmly remembered the look of horror on Umberto’s face when the door opened and Zacarías waited on the other side. Umberto loved his little wife, but he had to be punished. When blood coursed the water, sharks swarmed. The little fishies stood no chance. 

“I had Umberto tied to a chair, with every intention to make him watch my justice. When I ordered the baby be microwaved alive, you’ll never believe what happened.” To this day a sense of awe struck his story. “Umberto screamed and screamed. He begged and begged. But you know what that little wife did? She took a gun and shot the baby in the head, then turned it on herself, before anyone could touch them. Isn’t that amazing?” he asked.

It truly surprised him at the time.

“So you see, I learned an important lesson that day. I will not underestimate the fury of a little woman protecting the ones she loves. When I meet you again, señorita, you’ll be tied to the chair until we come to some sort of understanding.”

---

The viper finally struck, poison pumping as conversationally as a discussion of the weather. Natalie’s stomach turned, bile burning the back of her throat as the images so blithely shared by this man bedded down deep as glass splinters in a wound. She had seen horror before. A boy’s hand smashed to dust so that his brother might play a game of war; the petty revenge of knives and blood to settle ancient gang scores; the husband so convinced of his due he would countenance the unspeakable.

But it was horror misguided, fenced by rules and reason, led astray by passion. Not something casual, nor so whimsically wasteful of human life.

Beneath her carefully maintained fortress of apathy; beneath the still expression and unnerving gaze, Natalie was still human. The insidiousness of his words crawled and swelled, until they began to choke like the bindings he promised.

Cinq choses que vous pouvez toucher.

The panic bloomed from nowhere, like the pressure on that indefinable thing broken inside her since the tunnels simply burst. It caught in her lungs like the air had gone, and there wasn’t an anchor to capture in the space around her let alone five. The interior of the car was a smear of outside lights and the twisting shadows of total night, fuzzing darker like it meant to unhinge her from the present moment. Her grip tightened. She needed to be watching the road; knew she ought to pull over. But fear was the thing keeping her moving since the railyard, as if stopping now might give such seeds a chance to root and grow too deep to ever pull free. The strain of it pressed down like ghostly fingertips pattered on the windows; memory that announced itself gleeful, but did not wait for invitation.

Pavlo’s whisper in her ear. The scars on her wrists. 

“I don’t appreciate the threat,” she said finally. He would perhaps be disappointed to find her tone little more than glacial. Had he known her better, he would likely have delighted in the true tell; that the less emotive she became, the more she usually had to hide. Either way, as he so elegantly pointed out, she was in over her head.

“That's quite an assumption of passion to be based on so little evidence. You're correct, of course; I cannot afford for the Custody to lose Jay Carpenter, in body or in mind. If you're also right about the motivation you'll agree love is rarely rational. Your threats would fall on deaf ears, no matter how visceral.” Her humanitarian work appeared to follow the steps of her mother’s altruistic legacy, but the media had always accused her of her father’s coldness. She sounded it now. But it did not matter what he believed, and she wasted no breath on convincing him. Or herself.
---------------------------------
[[written with Jay]]

---

Bleakness settled like a shroud of ash after he terminated the call. For a moment Natalie only breathed into that darkness, one quiet moment bridging seamlessly to the next. Her strongest instinct was to take Cayli and disappear, but even if she could grasp the necessary resources to allow them that chance, it would mean life lived with one eye cast constant over their shoulders. Worse, it would require turning away from the fingers plucked at the edge of the damn self-sacrificial abyss Jay had flung himself into, something her mind skipped over like the ache in her chest was a burden too heavy to bear.

The problem remained how much she just didn’t know. Ryker urged her to consider the other big players, twisting her own words at the ball into advice as scathingly condescending as Scion’s. Returning to the miscast sanctuary of one of them seemed a poor plan, Axel’s betrayal notwithstanding. She didn’t know the intricate web of enemy and ally, and she wasn’t sure she could afford the mistake of finding out. Jensen had mentioned children before now, but there was no sign of them in the house. It spoke volumes in hindsight.

Natalie dug wearily through the bare facts. True trust was in pitifully meagre supply for any eventuality, so all the choices were less than ideal. She wasn’t keen on leaving anyone behind; Jensen’s help had come eagerly and without strings since the beginning, and she couldn’t abandon Jay’s parents to any backlash that might follow. Maybe it would easier to protect Cayli with two of them; certainly that had been Jay’s contingency. And she couldn't just drive forever, not least because the car she was in right now could be tracked; she’d already been found that way once. Ditching it and securing other reliable transport in the early hours would be impossible, even for her. So why didn’t the decision settle easy?

“Who was that?”

Her eyes shifted from the road to glance at where Cayli huddled. Little surprise flared the depths of her gaze, though she had hoped the girl would sleep through the call. She didn’t relish the details she must have heard, though there was little point holding anything back. Perhaps a taste of true fear would help temper the next time instinct suggested sneaking into the boot of a car was a good idea, and blunt truth never found much resistance from Natalie’s lips at the best of times. “The man your brother wronged.” 

Cayli’s eyes widened in the sort of terror Natalie felt no pleasure to witness. Her attention returned to the road. City lights glittered around them now. “I promised Jay I would get you to the Custody if things went south. Amengual can’t hurt you if he can’t find you.”

“I won’t go without him. I want to help, Natalie!”

“You are helping.”

“But we’re just running!”

The accusation grit her teeth with painful realisation. She felt it like a physical weight noosed the very world about her feet, apt to drag under. Or maybe that responsibility was simply Cayli herself. It was a bitter thought, and yet things would have been different if the girl had stayed safe in her bed. Natalie had unerring confidence in her own abilities, but she was all too aware of the mountain stacked against her. Her temper frayed and snapped. “You do anything else stupid, Cayli, and you get caught? Your brother dies too. So do us both a favour and dial back on the recklessness -- because for now? If you’re safe, so is he.”

Safe was too certain a word, though that at least she didn’t share, even as it caved a sinking hole in her chest. In that space the panic began to grow anew, spreading wings like a phoenix from ash. 

Her eyes were burning.

She knew it hadn’t been fair to snap.

“He threatened you too.” Obstinance built a wall around the words. Warnings bounced off iron skin as Cayli twisted away, dragging the blanket back up, but not before Natalie saw the pink glaze of tears.

She was wrong, though. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t even close.

Because Cayli’s death would be the one to break him.

They drove mostly in silence after that. Zacarías’s words scalded the hand that might have finally urged her to reach for the Northbrook’s help. Cayli was a cause her mother could champion whatever the subtext; to bullishly protect the innocent (and the not so innocent) was the core of her very nature. But the risk of retaliation was too great. She was still going to need help, though. Her thoughts skated the short list. Evelyn couldn't be seen as involved, not if things went deep as suspicion urged. But the Consul had offered her a job before, testing the waters of loyalty for a sense of her ambition within the Custody. She imagined the value he might place on a favour to tighten about her neck later -- precisely the sort of politicking she preferred to avoid, but a small sacrifice given the chasm under her feet. Ryker’s words haunted like they were meant to, but she was too tired to consider how wary she might need to be of Marcus too.

Forward me info on the Custody's practice of sedating channelers? Disturbing evidence in US. I need help pulling strings to get an underage channeler to safety; the girl who survived the Sickness. She’s too valuable to lose. Speak later.

When they finally returned, the gates of the James’s home parted smoothly for them. The house was lit softly as a lullaby, even in the dead of night, but the comfort of its welcome was greatly diminished less than twenty-fours hours since the relief of arrival. She half expected Axel’s shadow to ghost a doorway, but nothing stopped them. Cayli curled up in the mussed blankets of her room, silent. Natalie sat beside her, legs drawn up. Her bag, now housing the dart and Jay’s phone, had been retrieved and dropped beside the bed.

She’d sent a message to Jensen on arrival:

Come find me when you wake up. I’ll be in Cayli’s room

A moment later, another had followed:

I’m sorry we brought this to your doorstep, Jensen.

Now the heels of her hands pressed into her eyes. She knew it was more important than ever to rest while she could. Darkness still hung a heavy pall, dawn hours away -- the longest of nights. Either way, sooner than she could prepare for, trials of body and mind awaited. Ones she was not best equipped to fight. But thought wound like a bloody briar anyway, cutting her up to ribbons. Ryker’s laugh. Jay’s damn pin. Brandon’s cold eyes.

And realisation.

That the sharpest of weapons were forged in the hottest flames.

[Jensen James]

It was a kick-the-covers kind of night. Jensen tossed and turned, knowing something was wrong but unable to determine what it was. He tried praying at one point, but the words fell flat in his mind. Finally, he opened Doulou’s Bible, thinking fondly on his benefactor, and woke hours later alongside a chapter in Ezekiel.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and casually checked the wallet. A few new emails populated the home screen. Scroll stories were flagged for his attention. Then he saw Natalie’s message.
Come find me when you wake up. I’ll be in Cayli’s room
Worry furrowed his brow low.
I’m sorry we brought this to your doorstep, Jensen.

He quickly arranged his hygiene and appearance and hurried toward Cayli’s door. A very gentle knock rapped on the surface, wary of waking anyone within, but unwilling to open the door to a teenager’s room without invitation.

[Natalie Grey]

She didn’t dream. She didn’t even remember falling asleep.

A soft hand on her shoulder roused her from dark trenches. The previous night’s emotions had calcified to something cold and grey, and she felt reanimated rather than awoken. The weight remained, inescapable, but there didn’t seem much left to feel in the cold grasp of a new day. At least until she rolled to check her wallet, and her tired mind automatically calculated the chasm of time passed since the diner. How long they had had him now.

Whatever emotion stirred, it was pressed down. Her hands ran over her head as she shoved herself up. Faint surprise acknowledged the fact Marcus had replied already, but it would have to wait for now; Cayli scooted close, gripping Natalie’s arm. “There was a knock,” she whispered. She’d pulled the hoodie back on, the hood tugged up around her pale face. Her eyes looked swollen despite the shadows, but there was no comfort Natalie could offer that wouldn’t also be a lie.

“It’s Jensen,” she murmured assurance, though she was only guessing. She pressed her hand over Cayli’s, squeezed gently until the girl’s grip eased, but she still retrieved the gun as she shifted from the bed. The power floated a hair’s breadth from submission, but neither protection was needed when the door opened. Little relief stirred despite the welcome face. Concern pinched his brow, and if she’d had room for the emotion, guilt might have sunk her mood lower. Natalie didn’t balk from using others when it suited her, but Jensen seemed too kind a creature to have caught in such tangled webs. She needed him all the same, though. Her gaze made a weary scan of the landing beyond before she let him in.

No energy spared itself for niceties. She had little idea whether the conversation would be truly private despite the closed door, but it was her least concern in a long queue of risks. “Your wife’s head of security served alongside Jay at the time this whole mess started. He offered to secure a cartel contact that Jay accepted in the hope of information.” Little inflected the words. Numbness wrapped the details she couldn’t afford to let spill like weakness. Jensen had never questioned her investment. Natalie barely questioned it herself. “Axel let Cayli hide in the back of the car, knowing where he was going. They don’t just want him, Jensen; they want her too. For what he did.” She paused to allow the coldness of that to settle. The bite of an accusation stung, but it was not aimed at him. “Jay told me to get Cayli to the Custody if things went wrong.”

Her gaze pierced. If he was going to recoil from the responsibility, now was the time to do it. She wondered how much, if anything, Jensen knew of the wider circumstance. How much would Jessika confide in an estranged husband? He was an asset she couldn’t afford to ignore even if the bonds of their marriage were questionable, but it was the ties of oath and loyalty that shifted unease in Natalie’s gut. She was certain of his good intentions, but sometimes all that meant was just enough rope for hanging.

“Cayli’s parents are unlikely to listen to anything I have to say. But they might listen if the idea came from you. You must have met Marcus DuBois when you were in Moscow? I’ve asked him to help us secure asylum for the Carpenters. Jay’s a turncoat in America’s eyes. If it’s believed his family have been targeted as a result? Well, given the current political climate, I imagine certain quarters will have an invested interest in how the Custody protects defectors to its cause.” A sense of morbidity sharpened the words; awareness of the ghostly front lines of a war they had found themselves embroiled in, a war she had little interest in assisting. “Cover this in enough red tape, and Amengual will find it more difficult to act without jeopardising other ambitions.”

Cayli watched silent from the bed, legs tucked up, arms wrapped around her knees. Her cheeks were wet again, but her brows were daggered low now. “We can’t leave until we find my brother.”

Natalie's jaw pinched, but silence answered. Her arms folded, seeking the pillar of the wall to prop her up, and her gaze turned away. Maybe it was better for Cayli to believe the coldness masked nothing emotional beneath, though a spike of pain punctured her chest all the same; that Cayli believed she had even the slightest intention of abandoning Jay to the consequences of his stupidity. The defensiveness curled tight, seeking no outlet. She needed Jensen's help, first.

[Jensen James]

The last shadows of sleep were chased away by Natalie’s urgency. The tone of the room was smothering; Jensen’s chest tightened uncomfortable long before anyone spoke. Identifying Jessika as his wife was a pain that delved deep. After last night, their marriage was nothing but a piece of paper. What hope he had of reconciliation curled to the ash they would all choke on soon.

He knew none of the circumstances that Natalie described. As the details burrowed deep like devouring parasites, he found his own stomach turned sick. The words blurred faster than comprehension minded their passage until abstract recognition shaped an idea of the consequences inferred.

Jay was a soldier, and in every possible way the exact opposite of Jensen. Yet when he watched the man around others, hovering protectively alongside loved ones, ready and willing to sacrifice anything for their sakes, Jensen found himself shaking his head with disbelief. ”I don't understand.. How could he get himself captured? Jessika’s head of security did what?” He put a hand to his head like the gesture would contain the swirling thoughts. Cayli’s face streaked tears, and his heart ached for the fright that gripped her by the spine. Cancer? Danger? Fear? Suddenly Natalie’s note made sense, but he couldn’t let anything happen to any of them.

He could go to Jessika right then and demand answers of this security guard, but a horrifying connection suddenly synapsed, and he buried his face in his hands as a result. Dear God what a mess. What do I do? How do I help them?

Cayli’s demand sparked an awakening. He hurried to her side, kneeling low to her level. “We will find him. I will find him, I promise.” A squeeze of her hand found her skin cold, and Jensen pulled the powers of the Gift to grasp. He generally did not touch anyone with the Gift’s healing embrace without their consent, but Cayli was sick with fatigue and horror. What descended upon her should feel like a warm embrace and flush of all that ailed her body. Some color returned to her cheeks moments later, and Jensen proceeded to approach Natalie to do the same if she would allow his hands to cup hers.

When he turned back, it was to anchor the stormy seas hurling them adrift. “I will talk to the Carpenters, but you know that they loathe the CCD. I have no gift for politics, but there’s something about Jessika you should know, though. I don’t think we can trust her after all. It is my fault for bringing you here. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for me. That man you described – Axel you said? – I think they’re um—” he glanced at the teenager hanging on every word, ashamed to say it in front of her. Hopefully Natalie understood. “Jessika is hours away from announcing that Texas has legislation to secede from the United States. If we do not get out of the state before then, I fear we will be political hostages. The state lines will lock down and the only possible passage out, Ascendancy’s help or otherwise, will be to bribe our way into Mexico, and the Carpenters will be in even greater danger. We have to find Jay and get out of here as soon as possible.”

Natalie was a lighthouse in the storm, but even lighthouses took a beating by the sea. If nothing else, he would reassure her that they were together in this. "How do we find Jay?" He asked only for an idea to spark his eyes. He looked over one shoulder. "Confront Axel?" The man was a mountain compared to Jensen, but the powers of the gift gave him strength. "I don't think we should tell Jessika anything is going on yet. She's very, very smart, Natalie. I am worried that she not only knew about all this, but that it's the reason she was so welcoming of all of us in the first place. She has plans for me, too."

[Natalie Grey]

Discomfort prickled her skin when Jensen crumpled into his hands, her gaze falling away from an awareness of pain that ran deeper than the impossibility of their situation. Her nails dug into her palm, seeking distraction from the wave of hopelessness that threatened to tug her under too. There was no relief in sharing the burden, just a sense of necessity. She watched him sweep to Cayli’s side; watched the earnestness of his compassion, and the gift of a promise she was not sure either of them would be able to keep. She wished she could believe him.

When he returned, hands aloft in question, she shook her head. “I concede you were right last time, about needing to escape quickly.” A humourless smirk lifted her lips for the charm of old words, but some scars were harder to erase. The kindness only eroded walls better left intact, and fatigue was a ghost perched familiar on her shoulder. “But there isn’t anything you can fix this time.”

Obstinance reared. Better for him to conserve strength they might sorely need later, and she was wary of reliance tempted by the warm memory of her last healing by his hands. It had been a bad night, but it was unlikely to be the last.

And she didn’t want to feel whole.

“They use sedation in the Custody, to control channelers deemed a risk to society. It seems they employ the same trick over here. I doubt they could hold him any other way.” The explanation rang with a warning, acknowledging the source of Jensen’s own gifts. The why was harder to articulate given the blatant risk of such a gamble as walking knowingly into the snare of a trap. Desperation pushed men to the unthinkable. But Natalie understood. She only regretted the circumstances that prevented her being there too.

No surprise punctured her expression at the revelation, though something in her eased at how freely he shared the information she had suspected. Trust was hard won after all, and in pitiful supply the past few days. What he said meant the leeway she had assumed to be days became scant hours though; threat enough it should have banked panic in her chest, yet nothing stirred. She looked at Cayli, expressionless. Unless Jessika could be stalled, hours would not be enough even if Jay’s parents capitulated. 

“Amengual was a guest at the ball in Moscow. Jessika might not be the only one vying for the territory if Texas secedes. We’ll be in the centre of a power struggle; one I doubt Brandon was unaware of when he granted us leave to come here. If you’re looking for blame, I’d start there.” Treasonous words, probably, but she spoke them unapologetically. For the first time she wondered at the depth of connections. If Axel was sharing Jessika’s bed, how tangled did the conspiracy knot? And was it manipulation or an alliance? Neither boded well. Defiance sparked for the corner she had been backed into. It chipped at her patience for subtlety. Cayli might be the anchor holding her back from recklessness, but even that hadn’t stopped her from calling Ryker.

“I’m not sure what he’ll know, but I suppose we’ll find out.” No other reasonable suggestions reared. Or unreasonable, given the avenues she’d already tried. Even if Axel shared nothing, they would come for Cayli soon enough. Zacarías’s threats twisted. She finally straightened from the wall, felt the steel resolve her spine despite impossible odds. But something paused her. It wasn’t her business, but she wasn’t blind to the current of more personal struggles. Jensen’s kindness never paused to look for anything in return. Natalie wouldn’t pry. But her voice softened all the same. “Plans or no plans, Jensen, she cannot force you to anything against your will.”

[Jensen James]

Amengual…

Jensen tasted the name on his lips silently as though afraid to utter it aloud. Both ladies searched him for an answer like desperate sailors searching for shore. While the formation of a plan began to coalesce, he wasn’t entirely comfortable with how to actually enforce it. Where to even find the guard? Surely he wasn’t still..? He shook the thought aside. Then what? Ask the man point-blank where to find Jay? If he was implicit in the whole ordeal, it was unlikely he would answer willingly. What were they to do then? Threaten? Channel? Even if Jensen knew how to threaten someone with the Gift, he couldn’t do something like that. Jay himself was the greater channeler than any of them combined, yet he was overpowered. Possibly by another channeler, or if Natalie’s prediction was accurate, with medication. The custody sedated channelers? It sounded far-fetched, and a wall of defense stacked internally when Natalie implied Ascendancy’s role that pulled a frown to his lips. It wasn’t in his nature to blame others. This was on their shoulders alone. The only innocent figure in all of this was presently sitting on a bed frightened out of her mind.

And Jessika.. Maybe Jay, a stranger, was someone she could sacrifice, but an innocent child? Gabriel and Malachi were not here, though. Jessika knew danger swept in and out of here like winds coursing the passageways. She couldn’t possibly– ?

They were both looking to him for answers, though it killed him to arrive empty-handed, he had to arrive at a decision. “Here’s what we do. One of the two of us will stay with Cayli at all times, even while we’re on the property. At the end of the day, this is the governor’s household. No army is going to descend on the house because it would attract too much attention. We are probably safer staying here, knowing where the danger lies, than out in the unknown never knowing who to trust. At least here, we know who not to trust. It will keep the Carpenters calmer in the meantime. We also have access to resources that we wouldn’t otherwise have…” Jensen imagined the governor’s office, and if Jessika thought anything was remiss with him, she’d spy their every move. “It’s best to stay normal as possible.”

“Get yourself a shower and collect your thoughts, both of you, then go eat breakfast. I will find out where this Axel fellow is at in the meantime. Either all three of us confront him together, or just you or I do it on our own. What do you think? Is there anyone else you can recruit to help us? I’m afraid I burned all my bridges years ago…”

He turned to leave, eyes falling to Natalie. So much responsibility fell to her shoulders. If she allowed it, he could at least restore her energy and focus. It would take next to no strength, but he'd not push. He did speak softly, though, to her decline, "My offer remains. It is as easy as breathing for me. Think nothing of it, at least I can do something. I have my own life to redeem, too," he said, smiling reverently.

[Natalie Grey]

Natalie watched his expression like the burden of their problems might begin to show cracks, but if the weight bowed him he still rose to the task of shouldering it without complaint. She brooked no argument against any of his suggestions, at least a little glad to know he understood the severity of their circumstances enough to realise they could not risk leaving Cayli on her own. Until he spoke the words, she had not truly understood how much she had needed to hear it.

Little showed, of course. Compartmentalising was something she was good at, and the soothe of reassurance was ultimately no more useful to her than the fear billowing behind her ribcage. Even so, something of a dark smile hooked for the word normal, though she said nothing; it wasn’t like she didn’t understand the meaning. Though she doubted the ruse would hold for long.

“Are you sure you want to be the one to look for Axel?” She would not stop him, but neither would she allow a sense of duty to pull him into the arms of unnecessary pain. Though if Axel had an ounce of sense, he would not still be here. If it transpired he was, the risk must have some discernible gain for him, which might in turn allow for leverage. Or maybe he felt he had nothing to fear. It was a slim hope but better than idling while they waited for the noose to tighten. Truthfully it was not the descent of armies she feared, but something more insidious. Time haemorrhaged a fatal wound, and that was where the guilt gnawed; her reluctance to stem the flow.

Jensen urged temperance, but Natalie's gut burned for confrontation; for the tomb petty politics made of innocence. 

Jessika held the power here. 

Forestalling her declaration of secession would mean the difference between having time enough for escape, and not. Another fool’s hope, considering her (at best) blind eye and (at worst) complicity in Axel’s intentions, but still the bluntest path towards securing their passage out of America swiftly. Given how recently Natalie burned at the hand of her own reckless actions she ought to think twice before jumping straight back into the flames. But it was not that which kept her silent to the suggestion.

So she choose trust, and told herself it was not an abandoning of promise, but a refusal to close the door on leaving Jay behind.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Her connections were tenuous at best, but she’d use them ruthlessly. Marcus’s reply awaited. She had yet to hear from Laurie. Neither could offer imminent solutions, though. She met his gaze. Uncertainty peppered his plan even as he spoke, seeking her opinion. His mild manner suggested him unsuited to the task for that alone, but sometimes manipulation didn’t need a sharp edge. “If you find him, and you’re confidant, there’s little point wasting time coming to find me first. We have little enough to go around as it is. But we only get one shot at this. If you’ve any doubt, Jensen, then let me do it.”

His repeat insistence of aid drew a small smile, despite the stubborn wall he hit. She wondered what demons he stacked on his own shoulders to couch it in such a way, but so far as Natalie was concerned his willingness to help erased any previous sin. “I’ll try not to take that as comment on how shit I must look right now.” It was a dry jest, sharpened with a smirk that took no insult at all. She shrugged. “A shower and some breakfast, I’ll feel fine.”