A door slammed shut behind Jace. The heavy thud of metal echoed down the hallway, ringing in her ears.
"Are you injured?" was Tristan's first question, as soon as he'd pulled the two of them through the door. They were in a windowless room, lit by glaring fluorescent lights.
"I think a little . . ." Jace grimaced and leaned back against the wall, the cool metal biting her skin through her force-field-singed clothes. Even through the post-battle adrenaline haze, the pulsing blood and pounding heart, she could tell something was wrong with her ankle. "Are you?"
She looked over at Tristan and immediately realized something was wrong. Something worse than just the burns and tears in his clothing, the green goo splattering his arms and the side of his neck, or even the blood smeared on his cheek.
He was shaking slightly, all his limbs trembling. Though he was looking right at her, his eyes were somewhere far away. They didn't look like his eyes. His hands, normally so calm and steady, jittered at his sides, tapping against his thighs.
"Tristan?"
He winced, and belatedly, Jace remembered to lower her voice. Sometimes when they'd been younger, he'd had episodes where his super-senses started overwhelming him so much that he shut down entirely. The only thing that had helped him then was a dark room and quiet.
So she lowered her voice to a whisper, and reached over to turn the harsh lights off. Tristan's breaths were shaky and ragged, but he seemed to stop shaking so much once darkness closed in on them.
After a moment, his gaze seemed to focus in on her again, dark eyes bright through the darkness. He reached up a hand to harshly wipe something off his cheek, taking another shuddering breath. "Jace. I'm sorry, I—"
Whatever he'd been about to say was cut off. The door slammed open again, and Grayson strode through, flicking on the lights with one hand. Bright lights flooded the room once again. Tristan cringed back, the strange distant look in his eyes returning.
Somehow, even though she had just emerged from the fight between superheroes and irae, Grayson looked nearly unscathed. Barely a single hair was out of place in her steel-gray bun. Though she walked slightly too stiffly, as if trying to hide a limp, her gaze was as icy and her expression as unreadable as ever.
Nia sped into the room a moment after Grayson, hands vibrating with nervous energy. She was panting slightly, and splattered in green vine gunk and blood, the colors starkly contrasted.
Grayson gave a curt nod to both of them. "You were late to the duel," she said to Jace.
Jace blinked. It took her a moment to realize what Grayson was talking about; she'd been so caught up in the fight with the irae, she'd forgotten about being late to the supervillain duel. But now was her chance, finally, to talk to Grayson. Once the handler understood the full threat of the irae she'd just witnessed, and how they were collaborating with— or had possibly taken over— the rebel forces, she'd have to gather her forces to help.
"I— yes," she said. "But I have information. I was hoping to—"
Grayson held up a hand. "I'll deal with you in a moment, five-two-four." She turned to Tristan. "You were supposed to be at my side, providing backup. And yet you were nowhere to be found."
"Yes, ma'am," Tristan said, his voice dazed and distant. He was still shaking, limbs trembling so badly he accidentally knocked into Jace with his hand, but didn't even seem to notice.
"Well? Explain yourself." Though Grayson never raised her voice, her words were sharper than knives and cut twice as deep. "Without you, I was blind out there. I did not sense those creatures coming."
By the way her voice wavered uncertainly at "creatures," Jace could tell: Grayson knew little, if anything, about the irae. It was both disconcerting— Jace had rarely been in a position of having more information than her handler about something so important— and a relief: it meant her own intel would be valuable to Grayson.
She wanted to think it was only about getting Grayson as much information as possible so she could protect the City from the irae, but a small, guilty part of her also glowed at the thought of getting Grayson's approval.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," Tristan said, clearly struggling to keep his voice steady. It was much quieter than usual, barely a whisper. "I was evacuating citizens."
"I see. So you knew about this attack."
Though not much changed in Grayson's expression, her voice was flat and stony, her hands perfectly still. Danger bells rang in Jace's ears.
"He didn't know," she blurted. "I asked him to evacuate people. Because of the new information I've collected, I knew there might be an attack. I wanted to tell you but I was late for the duel. I asked Tristan to help me— I didn't tell him why."
Grayson's gaze turned to Nia, who bit her lip and nodded. "She's telling the truth."
"Very well," said Grayson.
Outside their metal room, there was a loud, resounding crash. Screams wailed in the far distance. The room shook, just slightly, the door rattling in its frame. Tristan squeezed his arms over his head as if trying to block out the entire world.
Grayson merely raised her eyes to the ceiling, waited for the noise to be over as if it was a small inconvenience, and then continued speaking. "I expected better from all of you. Especially you, Tristan." Her gaze lingered on him, her lip curling slightly. "I will deal with all of you later."
"Wait," Jace called out. "I have information about this attack— I think you'll want to hear it!"
"Yes, I think I will," she said with narrowed eyes. "Follow me. Nia, try to follow this attack to its source. And Tristan, stay here."
"Wait," he rasped. He held out a cupped hand. "Please."
She stared down at him for one moment, then gave a single, sharp shake of her head. "No, I don't think so. You will get your dose when I return to question you in a couple hours."
"Please."
Jace cringed back. She hated seeing him like this: the usually calm, guarded man full of humor, reduced to pleading and whimpering. It felt like she was seeing something she shouldn't, intruding on a private moment. He would hate her seeing him like this. But at the moment, he didn't even seem to realize she was there.
Grayson merely tsked and turned on her heel, beckoning for Jace to follow. Nia gave Jace a single look, filled with meaning that was lost on Jace, then briefly squeezed Tristan's shoulder and sped out of the room in a colorful flash.
"Can't you help him?" Jace asked, lingering in the room, not wanting to leave Tristan behind. He had fallen to the floor and was clutching his head in his hands, tearing out hair, muttering under his breath.
Grayson didn't look back. "I will. Later."
She clearly expected Jace to follow after her without delay, and Jace didn't know what else to do. "I'm sorry," she whispered to Tristan. He didn't seem to hear her, but then with his super-senses in overdrive he probably had, and adding to the sounds probably hurt him more. Feeling completely helpless, Jace quickened her step to catch up with Grayson's powerful strides. The door slammed shut behind them.
Grayson didn't speak as they walked down a long, winding, metal hallway. Her boots clicked against the floor, the sound punctuating the muffled screams and thuds from far, far away. Jace struggled to keep up, dragging her injured leg behind her.
Grayson looked back once, eyeing Jace's limp and her pained grimace. "Can you walk?" she asked sharply.
"Yes," Jace said. "I'm injured, but I can limp."
"Good." The handler turned on her heel and didn't look back again, though she slowed her pace slightly.
She led her into a room off to the side, one with a long metal desk and two chairs. The door clicked softly shut behind them.
In front of Grayson's flat, stony stare, Jace took in a breath and starting talking about the irae: their location deep in the Outskirts wilderness, their ability to take over human forms, their ability to drain or enhance people's superpowers. She left any mention of Tali, or her own involvement with the rebels, out of her explanation.
The words spilled out of her without any thought. Her voice sounded alien. She felt like she was looking in on herself from the outside, watching someone else speak.
As she spoke, Grayson's forehead creased into a frown. At some points, her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, though she didn't speak until all of Jace's words had run dry.
"I see," she said. "And why has this not been in any of your reports, agent?"
Jace bit down on her lip and thought carefully about what to say. "I know . . . I know I should have reported on this sooner. I didn't fully believe what I was seeing, and I wanted to have concrete evidence to bring to you." When Grayson didn't answer, she kept talking. "But now that you know more about them, we can stop them."
"And that is what you want? To stop them?"
Jace blinked, taken aback. "I— of course. Yes."
"Very well," said Grayson. "Hold out your arm, please, five-two-four."
Jace hesitated.
"I do not enjoy repeating myself, agent."
Jace quickly placed her arm on the table between them, palm up. Grayson grabbed it with one arm, steel-cold fingers wrapping around her wrist in a vise-like grip. With the other arm, she yanked up Jace's sleeve and flicked out a syringe from her coat pocket.
"What's that?" Jace asked, nervously eyeing the oily, yellowish liquid inside.
"Hold still," was Grayson's only reply, as she pressed the tip of the needle into Jace's forearm. Jace tried not to flinch as the liquid drained into her arm.
"A mild sedative," Grayson said at last as she released Jace's arm. "Administered to supers such as yourself, who have the physical superpowers to break out of containment. Enough to keep you awake and lucid, but to muffle your powers."
". . . Containment?"
"I have never trusted you," said Grayson, her upper lip curling in the barest hint of a sneer. "Why do you think I asked Tristan and Nia to keep tabs on you? You have been compromised ever since you became a sidekick to that traitor Kara. And now I know that you have been keeping information from me."
"Wait," Jace said. Think! You still have the upper hand! she told herself. Through the muddle of her racing mind, she desperately tried to grasp for something to say that would let her regain control. "I have information! There's things I haven't told you yet." Clumsy, but she hoped Grayson would take the bait.
"And I trust you will tell me everything in time," Grayson said, unmoved. "Perhaps if you are cooperative enough, we will not need to keep you here too long."
It was the same placating lie Jace had heard Tristan say to everyone being investigated by secret agents. She'd repeated the same lie herself a few times.
"No," Jace mumbled. She stared down at her arm as if she could remove the sedative by willing it. This couldn't be how she got caught. "But . . ."
"But what?" The handler raised her eyebrows. "But you have been so careful, haven't you? You have had free rein because I allowed it, five-two-four. You weren't immediately imprisoned after the debacle with Kara six-three-seven because I convinced the Council I could keep a close eye on you, and you would lead us straight to the rebels."
"I don't know where they are! Please— the irae—"
"Ah yes, these ancient mystical creatures you speak of. Perhaps spending so much time with the rebels has muddled your brain." Grayson stood, discarding the used syringe in a nearby trashcan.
"My brother—"
Her hand on the doorknob, Grayson paused.
"You've never meant to wake him."
Grayson said nothing. She gave Jace a brief, impassive look before leaving the room, and the lock clicked shut behind her.