Can’t. Vel told me to stay awake.
My chest feels tight. Even now, he reassures me.
“You’ll bleed to death.” Stupid to protest, he’s dying anyway.
“Not now,” he says, lurching to his feet. “Your boy needs help over there.”
A sob escapes me. I touch him briefly on the shoulder, a gesture that says everything as I pass by.
“How bad?” March asks, coming up behind me.
“Don’t know. I need the knife. Let’s cut him free.”
“That would’ve killed most guys,” March observes.
For once, I get the last word, and they both snap to work.
“If this works,” March says, “it’s going to take out half this room.”
“Keep your head down, Jax.” To my surprise, this terse order comes from Jael.
“March, line up some crates in front of Vel, if you can. Give us some cover.”
He nods to indicate that’s a good idea. “Don’t set it off until we’re settled,” he tells Jael.
“Was that a joke?” Sheepishly I ease off him.
“And we’re out of here,” Jael says. “Is he conscious?”
“I am.” Vel answers for himself. “Can you help me up?”
Does changing for the better absolve you of all the wicked shit you did before?
No.
March fills my head like a warm glow.
Instead you receive the twin delights of guilt and regret.
So he knows then. I’ve always wondered.
It’s what you do that counts, not what you
consider
doing.
“If we can find the control room, I can purge the vents,” Vel says.
Well, I’m all for that. “Clue me in?”
“So what happens in this purge?”
“Or they wind up cooked and then spaced for vagrancy? Harsh.”