“Don’t I? Lesta seemed pretty gods damn sure,” Jensen threw back, before glancing back down the hall again, like he was expecting someone to come walking by at any moment. “We’re running out of time.”

Stomping across the room, he grabbed Trey’s hand, removing a small dagger from his belt and smacking the handle in his open palm.

“If you want to die, it’s your call. I’ll leave this damn dagger. But if not, you’ll have one chance to get out of here. One, Gibson. So, you better fucking figure it out soon.”

He straightened back up, pulling his hand away like he already knew what answer Trey would give. And for a moment, he considered it. It could all be over right now. The pain, the unknowns, the nightmares. He could be at peace.

But there was another part of him, a darker part that was growing larger by the day, that didn’t want peace. That wouldn’t have it until that bastard was bleeding on the floor, begging for his own life.

So instead of tucking the blade away and listening to the quiet voice that wanted to roll over, he opted to listen to the angry one. The one that snatched Jensen’s hand back and slapped the dagger back into it.

His friend’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly as they met his, and he knew there was no sign of the man he’d once been in his face as he spoke. “I want in. Whatever political game you’re playing, I want in. And if we succeed, if we survive all of this, Eithan Matheris is mine.”

Relief filled Jensen’s eyes, there and gone in a blink, and then he gave a stiff nod, clearing his throat. “Stay strong, then. Eat your veggies and shit until I come back.”

He didn’t give Trey time to give him another vulgar gesture before he was grabbing Coleman’s arm and whispering furiously into his ear before dragging him toward the door.

Coleman darted one last glance at him, his face paling at whatever Jensen said, before they both disappeared, the door shutting behind them.

And then he was alone again. And with the silence came the doubt, then the panic, then the anger.

He flopped back down to the cot. What the absolute fuck was all that? And what had Jensen been talking about when he said Coleman could do something? What was he whispering to him to make him pale like that?

The entire thing pissed him off, even more so because it pissed him off.

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t care whether or not Coleman was going to rat Jensen out. He shouldn’t care where they were going now or wish he could go too. He shouldn’t hate that he gave the dagger back in the spur of the moment, shouldn’t want to open his eye anymore.

But gods damn him, he fucking did. And part of him hated Jensen for it.

Lost in his thoughts, it took him a minute to realize he could hear the sound of boots clipping down the hall. He shoved up to an elbow, brow raised, wondering what else his suddenly talkative-as-fuck friend needed to say.