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"Ace, no." Jarrod moves into a sprint, running straight at me, but my hands are already on the wood, her voice replaying over and over in my mind.

"Jax!" Jarrod throws himself between me and the coffin, his arms extended. His chest is rising and falling quicker than my own. "I won't let you do this. I won't let you fucking die. Never worth more than our lives, remember? Your words. Our lives matter more—" His hand finds my chest, pushing against me with all his might. I can hear him speaking, but his words don't sink in. I have to help. I can't leave her there.

"Jax."

My head jolts to the left as I hear my name being called. Adrian. His face cold as stone, eyes fixed on me as he stalks towards us. Jarrod steps quickly behind me, hands buried in his pockets.

I almost thank God that he's here. That he'll drag me back from making the biggest mistake of my life, and yet, I know I'll fight him. I know I'll fight to save her because her voice still plays in my head, the sight of her fingers slipping through the small holes designed to keep her alive enough to be delivered here.

I can't. I can't leave her. I can't.

Her voice doesn't stop, playing on repeat. Fuck, I want to scream. I want to smash my fists into a face, drive my knife into a chest until the blood pours over me.

Anything. Anything to stop the fucking voice.

Adrian grips the van doors and slams them shut. The sound rings out across the car park. He's mad—he's more than mad, he's fucking furious.

"Do you have a fucking death wish?"

My jaw tightens. "I can't leave her in⁠—"

Help me.

I'm drowning in her voice. I'm drowning, and there's nothing I can do to swim to the surface. Every rule, every threat from Vincent vanishes from my head.

"I raised you better than this, boy." His voice drops, quieter and somehow worse for it. "Our lives mean more."

I know that. I've always known that. I've built my entire existence around that one rule because without it, there's nothing left to justify any of it. And still my feet won't move. Still my eyes keep pulling back to those doors.

"I know, but⁠—"

"No buts. Get inside now before you get us all killed."

He won't let me finish. He never does. I feel it building in my chest, the familiar pressure, the thing I've spent years learning to swallow back down. He doesn't understand—he doesn't know what it's like to be the person in the back of that van. He doesn't fucking know.

"No."

The word leaves my mouth before I've decided to say it. Fuck him. Fuck everyone.

Adrian goes very still.

"No?"

The word hangs in the air for a second. Then something shifts in his face. The cold composure he's worn since I was eight years old cracks just enough that I can see what's underneath it.

"Say that again." His voice is quiet—that's never a good sign with Adrian. He's only ever quiet when he's trying his best not to tear my head off.

"I'm not a kid anymore⁠—"

"You're acting like one." He closes the distance between us fast, one hand shooting out to grip my collar, pulling me in close. His eyes are dark, jaw set. I've seen this face before. I've been on the wrong end of it enough times to know exactly what comes next.

He laughs, but there's no warmth in it. His fingers flex at his side before finding my collar again.

"You don't even know what's in there."

"Someone's breathing in it."

"And that someone belongs to Vincent. Same as everything else that came through those gates tonight." He drops his voice, pulling me closer. "Same as you. Same as me. You open that box, and he'll know before morning. You know how this ends, Jax."