Not the blank endurance of the others. Not the hollowed-out compliance that trafficking carved into people. This one was still fighting. Still angry. Whatever they'd done to him, they hadn't finished the job.
"I don't need your help," the man said. His voice was raw, cracked at the edges, but steady. "I don't need anyone's help."
"Maybe not." Zain held his gaze. "But you're getting it anyway."
Something flickered behind those green eyes. Not trust. nothing close. More like calculation. Measuring Zain the way a cornered animal measures the distance to the door.
"Who are you people?" the man asked.
"Later."
"That's not good enough."
"It's what you're getting." Zain held out his hand. "What's your name?"
A pause. Long enough that Zain thought he wouldn't answer.
"Seth."
"Okay, Seth. Can you walk?"
"I can do whatever I need to do."
Zain almost smiled. Almost.
"Then let's go."
Seth didn't take his hand. He stood on his own, unsteady, one hand braced against the chain-link, but upright. Chin lifted. Jaw set. Like standing was an act of war.
Zain watched him and felt something shift under his feet that he didn't have a name for
Later, in the van, Seth sat as far from everyone else as the confined space allowed. Pressed against the wall with his knees drawn up and his eyes tracking every movement, cataloging exits and threats the way Zain had been trained to do.
Nate tried to hand him a water bottle. Seth took it, drank, and said nothing.
Jack tried a joke, something about the guards being the worst shots since Stormtroopers. Seth didn't even blink.
Zain sat across from him and watched. Said nothing. Seth's eyes found his once, held for three seconds, and looked away.
When they reached the safehouse, Seth stepped out of the van and looked up at the building, a converted warehouse in Corktown that Lakefront had owned for five years, nondescript on the outside, reinforced and wired on the inside.
"Is this a jail?" Seth asked.
"No."
"Then I can leave whenever I want."
"You can." Zain held the door open. "But you've got nowhere to go and it's twelve degrees."
Seth stared at him. Zain stared back.
The December wind cut between them, sharp as a blade, carrying the distant sound of a freight train.
Seth went inside.
Zain followed him and didn't think about why his chest felt tight
Three AM became four. Nate had Seth in the common room, a big, open space with mismatched furniture, a kitchen area along one wall, and organized chaos that came from six men sharing space they'd never intended to be domestic. Seth sat on the edge of a couch that sagged in the middle and submitted to Nate's examination with tolerance of a cat being held against its will.
