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"You're bleeding on my coat."
Mina didn't look up. She had her fingers pressed to the gash on Jace's forearm where the line-blade had kissed him during the tunnel fight. The wound wasn't deep, but it kept leaking, and every time she pulled her hand away to grab another wad of gauze, the blood welled up fresh and dark.
"Your coat's seen worse," Jace said.
She finally met his eyes. Hers were red-rimmed, shadowed. "That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"The point is you shouldn't have done that." Her voice cracked on the last word. She pressed harder, and he hissed through his teeth. "You shouldn't have tried to command the whole tunnel. You could've burned yourself out."
"But I didn't."
"You don't know that." She tied off the bandage with a sharp yank. "You don't know what you are yet. And until you do, you can't just—"
"Can't what?" He grabbed her wrist before she could pull away. "Save your life? Because that's what I did back there. You took a blade for me, Mina. What was I supposed to do, say thanks and watch you bleed out?"
Her pulse hammered under his fingers. For a second, she didn't answer. Then she twisted free and stood up, shoving the bloody gauze into her med kit.
"We need to move," she said. "Gideon knows we were there. He's going to send people."
"Where?"
"The tower."
Jace went still. They were in a half-collapsed storage unit two blocks from Floodmarket, the kind of place that smelled like rust and old grease and things best left forgotten. The ceiling leaked. The walls groaned every time a truck passed on the street above. It was the last place anyone would look for them, which made it perfect.
But the tower.
"You said the tower was sealed," Jace said slowly. "You said no one's been inside in a hundred years."
"No one has."
"Then why go there?"
Mina turned to face him. Her jaw was set, but her hands were shaking. "Because I have to seal it again. Before Gideon gets there. Before you—" She stopped.
"Before I what?"
"Before you open it."
The words landed like a punch. Jace stood up, ignoring the way his arm throbbed. "I don't even know how to open it."
"You don't have to know." She crossed her arms, holding herself tight. "The tower knows you. That's enough."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means—" She stopped again, looking away. "It means I should've told you the truth from the start. But I was too scared."
"Scared of what?"
"Of losing you."
The air between them went thin. Jace could hear his own heartbeat, loud and uneven. Outside, a siren wailed past, Doppler-shifting into silence.
"Mina."
"Don't." She held up a hand. "Just don't. I need to say this."
He waited.
She pulled something out of her pocket. A small glass vial, half-full of silver liquid that caught the dim light like mercury. "This is the last stabilizer I have," she said. "The kind that keeps your channels from tearing when you pull too hard on the lines."
"Okay."
"I was supposed to give it to you after the tunnel. But I didn't."
"Why not?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Because if I gave it to you, you'd be strong enough to reach the tower on your own. And I thought—" She swallowed hard. "I thought if I kept you weak, I could keep you away from it. Keep you safe."
Jace stared at her. The vial glinted in her hand like a tiny star.
"That's why you were so pissed when I used the command," he said. "You thought I'd burn out before we got there."
"I knew you would." She looked at him, and her eyes were wet. "And I was going to let it happen. I was going to let you tear yourself apart because I was too much of a coward to face what's inside that tower."
The silence stretched. Jace could feel the lines under the city humming, distant and patient, waiting.
"Give it to me," he said.
She hesitated.
"Mina. Give it to me."
She crossed the space between them in two steps and pressed the vial into his hand. Her fingers were cold. "Drink it now," she said. "All of it. Don't stop halfway."
He uncapped it and tipped it back. The liquid tasted like copper and ice, and it burned all the way down. For a second, nothing happened. Then the lines in his head flared bright, brighter than they'd ever been, and he could see the whole city laid out like a circuit board, every node and junction and hidden channel blazing.
And at the center, the tower.
It wasn't just a building. It was a scar, a wound in the pattern, something that shouldn't exist but did. And it was calling him.
"Do you see it?" Mina's voice was barely audible.
"Yeah." His own voice sounded far away. "I see it."
"Then we need to go. Now."
She grabbed her kit and headed for the door. Jace followed, his legs moving on autopilot. The stabilizer was still singing in his blood, and every step felt like walking on a live wire.
They took the back alleys, the routes that didn't show up on any map. Mina moved fast, her hand on the knife at her belt, her eyes scanning every shadow. Jace kept pace, but his attention was elsewhere. The tower's pull was getting stronger, a gravity he couldn't ignore.
"How far?" he asked.
"Ten minutes. Maybe less."
"And when we get there?"
"I seal it. You stay outside."
"What if I can't?"
She didn't answer.
They turned a corner, and the tower came into view. It wasn't what Jace expected. No gleaming spire, no ancient fortress. Just a squat, windowless structure at the edge of the old industrial quarter, the kind of place you'd walk past without looking twice. The door was rusted shut, and the walls were covered in graffiti and grime.
But the lines around it were alive. They pulsed and twisted, a knot of power so dense it made his teeth ache.
"That's it?" Jace said.
"That's it."
Mina stopped a dozen yards out. She pulled a small leather pouch from her coat and started sketching symbols on the ground with white chalk. Her hands were steady now, practiced.
"What are you doing?" Jace asked.
"Anchoring the seal. It won't hold forever, but it'll buy us time."
"Time for what?"
"Time for you to leave."
He looked at her. "I'm not leaving."
"Jace—"
"I need to know what's inside. You said the tower knows me. I want to know why."
"It doesn't matter why."
"It matters to me."
She stood up, chalk dust on her knees. "If you go in there, you won't come out the same. Maybe you won't come out at all."
"Then come with me."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm the one who locked you inside the first time."
The words hit him like a blade. Jace took a step back, his mind reeling. "What?"
Mina's face was pale, her jaw tight. "Twelve years ago. You were a kid. So was I. And I was the one who sealed the door after they put you in the cell."
"You're lying."
"I wish I was."
The lines in Jace's head flared hot, and suddenly he could see it—fragments, flashes, a memory that wasn't his but was. A small room. Stone walls. A girl with a medic's bag, her hands shaking as she drew the seal. And a voice, his voice, younger and raw, screaming for her to stop.
"No," he said. "No, that's not—"
Behind them, the tower door groaned.
They both turned. The rusted metal was shifting, scraping against the frame. No one was touching it. No one was there.
But it was opening.
Mina grabbed his arm. "Run. Now."
Jace didn't move. He couldn't. The pull was too strong, and the door was yawning wide, and from the darkness inside came a voice.
Small. High. A child's voice.
"Welcome back," it said.