It doesn’t make things clearer. It just makes everything bigger. Hell, more dangerous even.
And somewhere in the middle of all that?—
Varek.
“Right,” I say again, contemplating moving.
Sonny and Jack both look at me.
“Where you going?” Sonny asks.
“To find the idiot who signed off on all of this,” I reply.
Sonny’s mouth twitches. “Good luck with that.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I’m going to need it.”
Because if Varek thinks I’m just going to sit back and accept all of this without a conversation, he’s got another think coming.
I push off the table and stand, immediately regretting it.
The world tips sideways so fast, I barely catch it in time. The glow-veined walls seem to lurch away from me, then rush back in, and for one deeply humiliating second, I’m convinced I’m about to end this very serious conversation by face-planting into the floor like an overtired idiot.
A hand catches my good arm before I go anywhere.
Jack.
He’s there so quickly, it takes my brain a second to catch up. One moment I’m upright on spite alone, the next he’s bracing me with a firm grip and enough steady weight at my side to stop the whole disaster from unfolding.
“Easy,” he says, voice low and calm, like I’m a skittish horse rather than a grown man whose body has finally decided to inform him it’s reached its limit. “You’ve probably done enough for one day.”
“I’ve stood up,” I mutter, swallowing against the sudden nausea. “Bit dramatic to call that enough.”
Jack’s grip doesn’t loosen. “You’ve had your arm broken, been beaten for four days, and you’re still healing. I’d say standing up and trying to interrogate people about interdimensional conspiracies is a pretty full schedule.”
Sonny makes a sympathetic face that would be more convincing if he didn’t also look like he was trying not to laugh.
“Mate,” he says, “you’ve gone grey.”
“I’m brown.”
He snorts. “You know what I mean.”
I do, unfortunately.
The lightheadedness ebbs, but slowly. It leaves behind a hollow sort of exhaustion, the kind that lingers in the musclesand bones rather than just making your eyelids heavy. I hate it instantly. I hate the way my body feels unreliable. I hate the way my legs don’t seem entirely committed to the idea of holding me up. I hate, more than anything, the harsh reminder that I am not currently capable of doing what I want, when I want.
Defenceless is too dramatic a word.
It’s also not entirely wrong.
Sonny must read some of that on my face, because the grin slips. He pushes off the wall and straightens properly. “I can go find Varek,” he says. “Tell him you need him.”
The words hit somewhere awkward. My first instinct is immediate and stupid and automatic: I don’t need anyone.
It rises right up to the back of my throat, ready to come out razor-edged and mean. I can feel it there, that old reflex to shove away anything that sounds too much like dependence, too much like vulnerability, too much like someone seeing I’m not doing nearly as well as I’d prefer.
But Jack is still physically holding me upright, so I keep my mouth shut.
