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Jack Wilder was a light sleeper. Years in foster care followed by sleeping in partially obscured alleyways had taught him the value of always being alert, and it was a habit he hadn’t been able to shake quite yet.
But this time, Jack woke up slowly, clawing his way to consciousness through a thick slog. His eyes were heavy and his thoughts were foggy, like he’d just gotten a full, restful sleep.
That’s how he knew something was deeply wrong.
He didn’t move, barely breathed as he took stock of himself. Of his surroundings.
The first thing he noticed was a pounding headache, the second was that his sluggishness was lingering to a very concerning degree.
Drugging me on top of knocking me out seems a bit overkill, but alright.
The chair Jack was sitting on was cold and metal, digging into his back with unnecessarily sharp edges. His arms were bound in some sort of cast, also metal and likely connected to the chair. A slight tug confirmed that there were no locks to pick, which meant that it had to have been welded while he was unconscious. His ankles were encased the same way.
No hinges, no locks, no keys.
No escape.
So whoever this was definitely knew who they were dealing with.
From what he could tell, the room itself was cold, damp, and dark. Probably a basement somewhere outside of the city where he’d been staying with the other Horsemen.
Hopefully, they’ll notice that Jack’s gone missing and will be able to track him down sooner rather than later.
Suddenly, a door swung open with an ear-piercingly rusty squeal, which Jack thought was a bit cliché.
“Good morning, Mr. Wilder. There’s no need to keep pretending, I know you’re awake.”
They were using a voice modifier which was… Not exactly ideal.
When Jack opened his eyes, all of his observations were confirmed. Everything was grey from the metal chair, to the concrete walls, to the dim light filtering in from the sliver Jack was hesitant to call a window. And his captor was wearing a mask with a shapeless robe, which he supposes is good.
People don’t bother hiding who they are if they plan on killing you.
Jack remained calm, leaning back as far as his position would allow and opening his jaw in a loud yawn, pasting his signature charming smirk on his face.
“Good morning…?” He left it open, but the masked figure just stared at him, “Ah, figured it was worth a shot. What can I help you with? I gotta say, I’m pretty flattered by all the effort that must’ve gone into this. You really did your research!”
They remained silent, appraising him. With each passing moment, the unease within Jack grew stronger, but he didn’t let himself waver. He simply raised an eyebrow and waited for an answer.
Which he eventually got. “You are going to tell me everything there is to know about the Eye.”
Oh, great. Another sore loser who couldn’t handle being rejected by the cool kids club.
Jack beamed, “Well, that’s something I can help you with! Get it?” The grin on his face edged over into what Henley would call shit eating territory as he said, “The eye is a very important organ. There’s a whole bunch of shit in there, like an iris and a pupil and a bunch of nerves, but basically its whole thing is that you use it to see—”
He was cut off by a sharp crack to the face, the unexpected sting of a strong backhand stunning Jack into silence. He hadn’t even seen them move, but there they were, a few steps closer and flexing their hand.
Before he could utter another word, the figure’s gloved hand shot out and grabbed him by the chin, the grip tight enough to bruise. Jack’s head was forcefully pulled upwards, but he managed to catch a brief glimpse of their sleeve sliding down and revealing a pale arm littered with scars.
Interesting.
“Don’t play dumb with me, jackass,” Oh hey, that one was pretty good, actually, “I know who you are and I know that your little friends aren’t coming to save you. It’s just you and me here, and you will tell me what I want to know.”
At that, Jack couldn’t help but scoff. “Please, you’re gonna be behind bars before you even know what hit you.”
Instead of the stony silence, or even slight nervousness that Jack had expected, the figure let out a dark, rumbling chuckle. The sound of it raised the hairs on the back of his neck, but his confidence didn’t waver.
“Is that what you think? I knew that you were naive but I didn’t think you were stupid.” Man, this guy was just straight up rude.
Jack opened his mouth to retort but was quickly cut off with another searing slap, this one more forceful than the first. “SHUT UP!” The words exploded out of them, distorted voice ringing throughout the room.
“You are not to speak unless spoken to,” They said, gripping tightly to the back of Jack’s neck until he nodded. “Good. Now, if you will, please direct your attention to the screen.”
With a snap of his fingers, what Jack could’ve sworn was concrete flickered to life, and what he saw there sent fear washing through him, because it was them.
Daniel, Henley, and Merritt were lounging in their shared apartment, different angles caught by different cameras, which were all being projected here for this psycho’s viewing entertainment.
Daniel was practicing a card trick, cards dancing through his hands and across his fingers with an elegance only Jack could match.
Henley was in the kitchen, making a chickpea salad by the looks of it. It was her favourite and she made it almost every day, even though Merritt hated the smell of chickpeas.
And speaking of Merritt, he was on the couch across from Daniel, sprawled out and with a hat tipped over his face, sound asleep.
A wave of white-hot rage crashed through Jack, because who was this guy to spy on them? How dare they invade the sanctity of their little home, his family?
“I swear to God,” Jack spat out, “If you hurt any one of them I will—”
“SILENCE!” The blow that accompanied that split the inside of Jack’s cheek against his teeth. Blood flowed into his mouth and Jack decided against spraying it all over the grey floors. For now. “Look at them. They haven’t even noticed that you’re missing.”
Jack just raised an eyebrow, staring half-sarcastically, half-expectantly.
Their shoulder relaxed just slightly. “Good. You may speak.”
Jesus Christ this guy sucked. “Right. Thanks. So, you really think I’m going to believe that? That none of them have noticed a camera for this long or that this is actually live? Give me a break, dude.”
The man shrugged, because at this point Jack was 99% sure he was a man, and said, “You guys had a plumber come in the other day, right?’
Jack doesn’t answer, because they had.
“Well,” the man continued, “There are downsides to getting comfortable, I suppose. Not doing thorough background checks, for one. Not that you would have found anything, but I’m disappointed that all my hard work went to waste.” He moved towards the door, leaving the feed running, “As for it being live, I can assure you that it is. But I’ll give you some time alone to realize that for yourself. No tricks, just the unfortunate truth.”
The door screeched shut behind him, and Jack was left alone with only the clearly fake recordings of his friends for company.
They were almost definitely fake.
Probably.
Jack’s not sure how long he spent staring at the screen. Hours, at least, but he couldn’t find one single discrepancy. Nothing that would suggest an illusion or a set of doubles or any sort of technological misdirect. The clock on their wall showed the time Jack assumed it would be based on the amount of light in his cell, and the calendar showed that it was a new day, which made sense.
But worst of all, he noticed that there wasn’t a single mention of him.
They laughed, smiled, and went about their day like nothing was wrong. Like they weren’t missing their fourth.
And was it him, or did they almost seem happier this way?
“So,” Hands clapped down on Jack’s shoulders without warning and he didn’t have the energy not to flinch, “What are we thinking now? Did the not-so-great Jack Wilder find a trick? Or is he ready to accept the truth that he was simply forgotten. Discarded the moment an opportunity presented itself.”
Something burned against Jack’s eyes at the words, but he clenched his jaw and lifted his chin, unwilling to let this guy get under his skin.
“You only see what they want you to see.” Jack continued looking at the screen, allowing a small smile to find his face, “I don’t doubt that they’re coming for me, but it’s a damn good thing that you do. I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you realize that they were three steps ahead this whole time. They will come for me.”
He said that last part because he needed to. There could be no room for doubt or worry here, not when he was the most helpless he could remember being in a long time. But, something in his voice wavered when he said will. It shouldn’t have. Jack should be all cocky grins and easy confidence, but he’d been burned before.
And it seemed like this guy knew that, because he caught the slight crack in Jack’s facade and jumped on it like a starving dog would a bone.
“I don’t know, Jacky. You don’t sound too sure about that.” Smugness dripped from his lips in a way that was so unlike Danny’s teasing and wrapped around Merritt’s nickname for him, so devoid of its usual affection that it made Jack nauseous.
God, he missed them. “Don’t fucking call me that.”
A hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked, sending a sharp pain spiking through his scalp and down his neck. Before Jack could even open his mouth, something sharp that he knew all too well was gently pressed against his neck.
“Now,” the man said, tapping his finger thoughtfully against the blade, “I could’ve sworn I said something about no talking. Maybe I’m not being severe enough with my punishments.”
He moved just slightly and a small cut opened on Jack’s throat.
Jack spoke carefully, working his throat to gauge how much wiggle room he had, “How am I supposed to confess all my secrets to you if I’m not allowed to speak?”
“Well, do you intend on revealing any secrets to me right now, Wilder?”
The grip in his hair tightened as he answered, “Nah, not particularly.”
“Then I’d suggest you keep your goddamn mouth shut until then.” And before Jack could blink, silver flashed in his vision and blood was pouring down into his eye while pain radiated from his newly split eyebrow.
Jack hoped the scar would look cool, at least.
“Who am I kidding?” He continued, walking around to pace in front of Jack, “You probably don’t have any secrets to hide. I mean, look at you!” He gestured at Jack with the knife that was still marked with his blood, and Jack braced himself for what he knew was coming, “You’re the youngest out of all of them by a good decade, they’d all made or were making names for themselves and where were you? On the streets doing kid tricks to lift people’s wallets. I really don’t get what the Eye saw in you.”
None of it was anything he hadn’t thought before. Hell, it wasn’t even anything the other Horsemen hadn’t said when they were first getting to know each other.
Well, it was mostly Daniel, but still.
It didn’t stop there, though, because of course it didn’t. “Look at them, Jack!” He said, gesturing to the figures on the screen and Jack’s gaze flickered up involuntarily, “Don’t they look so happy? No dead weight to lug around, no little kid following them around who needs them to hold his hand, no need to protect those precious little feelings. If you asked me, I’d say they never really cared about you at all!”
That hurt a little more than Jack was expecting to.
Nobody ever wants anyone to confirm their own insecurities.
The man leaned in close and tapped Jack on the nose with the tip of his knife, “So, feeling chatty yet, Jacky?”
Jack looked behind him, at his family laughing and relaxed, and knew what he had to to. He straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath…
And spat directly in his captor’s face.
“Oh, Jack,” He said, wiping his face with a handkerchief pulled out of nowhere, “I was really hoping you’d say that.” A scalpel and a lighter appear, dancing around his fingers in an impressive sleight of hand. “Let’s have ourselves some real fun, shall we?”
The front of his shirt split open, the scalpel was sanitized, and Jack barely had enough time to brace himself before the first cut was made.
It hurt. The red-hot fire of pain seared through his chest with every careful line. Aside from a strained groan, though, Jack managed to stay relatively quiet. It’s not like his pain tolerance is low, after all.
“There, all done!” But when Jack went to look down, the still-hot blade was pressed under his chin, forcing his head up. “Ah ah! No peeking until I’m done, alright? I’ll know if you do.”
Jack gritted his teeth enough to nod, trying his best to ignore the burns demanding his attention.
The man leaned down, and Jack could tell that he was grinning behind the dark mask. “Good. I’ll be back tomorrow to keep working. We’ll see if you feel like talking then.” He turned to walk out the door, paused, and tossed over his shoulder, “I’ll leave the feed on for some entertainment. Can’t have my favourite magician getting bored, now can we?”
Then the door closed behind him, and Jack was alone.
It went like that for a while. The masked man would come in, create physical wounds with knives and fire and fists, carving a new word into his chest with each passing day. He’d prod at emotional wounds with precisely crafted jabs. Comments on his minor role in the shows, on his name being last in the introduction, that the other three just look so much happier without him.
That they’ve forgotten him.
Some days, the man spends a lot of time with Jack. Others, he only appears to carve his next word and leaves Jack to watch the feed of his family happily living their lives without him. He’s fed irregularly and minimally, the gnawing hole in his stomach and the dryness of his mouth are ever present.
He still doesn’t speak.
On the seventh day, or at least what Jack’s pretty sure is the seventh day, the door slams open with more force than usual. Jack raises an eyebrow, something he’s even better at over the course of his stay and was bound to annoy Henley.
Would have been bound to annoy Henley, at least.
“Why do you still keep their secrets when you know they’re not coming for you?” The question’s not part of their established script. It’s either asking Jack what he knows about the Eye, which he never answers, or tearing Jack’s only sense of emotional security to shreds, which he only cries about a little. And only when the man’s not in the room, although Jack knows that doesn’t mean he doesn’t see it.
After a few moments of Jack’s silence, the man drives his fist into the screen. It goes black, but the others keep playing, glitching occasionally. “ANSWER ME!”
“Because—” Jack’s voice cracked, rough from disuse, so he cleared his throat and tried again, “Because I love them. They were my family even if I wasn’t theirs.”
The man scoffed, “Love.” He took out the scalpel and, without bothering to sanitize it, drove it into Jack’s chest further than he had before. “Love is useless, Jack. You’d be better off without it.”
The paid shot through him, but Jack watched Daniel, Henley, and Merritt through the screens. He remembered laughing with them, doing shows, going out to bars and hoping he wouldn’t get caught with his fake ID for the first few months. Sure, he’d been left behind, treated as though he didn’t matter as much, but maybe he hadn’t.
Those memories hurt, but they never outshone the good ones. The memories of the people who’d given him a glimpse of the only real family he’d ever had.
Jack was pulled out of his thoughts by a brutal stab, deep and conclusive.
“There,” the man said, “All done.”
He ripped the scalpel out and blood went gushing down his ribs, dripping onto the floor with a speed that was making Jack woozy.
This was it.
He was going to die.
Jack’s vision started going dark and everything that happened next was a blur. The door crashed open with a loud bang. Several more followed. Gunshots, this time. People were yelling over each other but Jack was pretty sure he heard his name in there so, with a great amount of effort, he pried his eyes back open.
There was a flash of red in front of him, blocking his view of the screens. Henley.
“Hey, Jack,” she said, smiling at him, “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?”
Beside her was Dylan, except Dylan wasn’t looking at him. He was looking down, aiming a gun at what Jack would guess was the man who kidnapped him since he didn’t have the energy to move his head. His eyes flickered over to Jack, then down to his chest. Dylan’s jaw tightened and the fire in his eyes raged even brighter.
“Nobody messes with my Horsemen.” A final gunshot sounded and some red splattered the wall and then Dylan was out of sight.
Jack tried to turn his head, only succeeding in lolling it to the side. “Where—?”
“Shh, don’t speak.” Henley put a finger to his lips, “He’s helping Danny get you out of these welded cuffs. Merritt’s out in the car. This guy really didn’t want you going anywhere, huh?”
Her words were light but her tone was strained. She was worried.
But Daniel was here.
“Dan— Daniel,” Jack rasped out, “Danny?
A voice sounded from behind him, thin and desperate, “I’m here, Jack. Just hold on, okay?”
His vision was going dark, but he needed to say this. “I didn’t tell him anything. I swear. I’m— I’m not—” But before he could finish, Jack’s strength failed him, and he passed out.
Oh my God, Jack’s dead.
That was the only thing going through Henley’s mind when Jack’s eyes slipped shut. She stood there, frozen for what felt like forever before reaching out with shaking hands to try and find a pulse.
Thump… thump. Thump… thump.
Weak, but there. Her shoulders sagged in relief and she looked desperately at the two men in front of her. “Any progress? He just passed out but he’s still alive. We need to hurry!”
“We’re going as fast as we can, Hen!” Was all Danny said before going back to what he was doing.
There was no trick to these cuffs. No lock to pick or mechanism to figure out. They were welded to the chair and their only hope to get Jack out was to cut through them.
Of course, they also had to do that without cutting through Jack’s hands or arms. One mistake and he’d be stripped of what made him him. No magic tricks, no Horsemen, no livelihood. Everything was at risk here.
Henley turned around to look at the screens behind her. Staring at Jack and panicking wasn’t going to get her anywhere, and she struggled to look anywhere but his chest in any case.
She caught a glimpse of the man at her feet, mask blown to bits by the bullets Dylan had put into his head. Too quick a death, in Henley’s opinion, but they were on a time crunch. She gave him a kick, but it did nothing to assuage the fire that had been building within her since the moment they’d realized Jack had gone missing a week ago.
The question remained: What had happened in that week?
Clearly, Jack had been tortured. Henley’s heart spasmed just thinking about it. There were layered bruises, cuts, and burns marring the skin of their youngest member. His ribs had been jutting out more than usual and there were dried tear tracks running down his cheeks that made Henley want to wrap him in a blanket and hide him away from anything that could hurt him.
Then there was the matter of the screens. One was completely black with a hole punched through it, the rest were recordings of their apartment. This man must have known everything they were doing, but why would he make Jack watch this?
And then she saw herself walk in, and everything started sliding into place. Henley watched as Daniel and Merritt followed her and sat down on the couch, turning on the TV and chatting without a care in the world. The time and date were accurate and, if Henley was putting this together properly, Jack had been watching this nonstop for a week.
He’d been watching them do nothing other than sit around and laugh without a care in the world for the entire time he was being held captive. Jack was being cut open on a daily basis and he must have thought they hadn’t even noticed he was missing.
That asshole’s death had definitely been too quick.
“Henley!” Danny’s voice snapped her out of her spiral, “We’ve got him out! Let’s get the hell out of here.”
She shook herself off and turned around to see Jack in Dylan’s arms, and wow, he looked so small. Okay, freak out later, get out now. Henley and Danny cleared the way for Dylan as they raced out of the crumbling house. Clearly, this guy’s life hadn’t been going too well.
Just before they reached the front door, Henley hesitated, “What are we going to do about him?” She glanced behind them and down the stairs to where the corpse was still cooling.
“The Eye will send people to take care of it. Now let’s go!” Dylan barked at her, and they got to the car in record time.
The moment they opened the door, Merritt flooded them with questions. “Is that him? Is he okay? What did that bastard do to—”
“Drive, Merritt!” Danny yelled from his position, trying to put as much pressure as he could onto Jack’s still bleeding wound. “Get us home now! I don’t care how many laws you have to break to do it, we are not letting Jack die!”
Nobody mentioned the way Danny’s voice cracked, just how nobody mentioned the way tears welled up in Henley’s eyes or the way Dylan’s breathing was shaky. She reached behind her to put a hand on Jack’s leg and tried to find solace in the fact that he was still warm.
“We’re gonna get you home, Jack, okay? Just hang in there, you’ll be alright.” Henley’s eyes flickered up to the rear-view mirror at the sound of Danny’s low voice, pleading with whatever forces that might be out there to keep Jack breathing.
She really hoped he was right.
The first thing Jack noticed when he woke up was that he was warm. It had been so cold in that basement, and he’d had his only layer stripped away from him since the first day. Honestly, he hadn’t been convinced that he’d ever be warm again, but here he was.
He noticed the next two things in quick succession: He was in a bed and someone was holding his hand.
It wasn’t nearly as difficult as he thought it would be to open his eyes, which was a relief to Jack. Each time he woke up in there, he could feel the lingering effect of the drugs from the first day. He wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the man had been slipping little bits into his food to keep him weak.
The lights in the room were dim, which Jack appreciated. One of the benefits of living with the best magicians in the world was that they tended to be pretty smart about these kinds of things. When he looked down at his hand, he was greeted with a ruined manicure, painted nails cracked and anxiously chewed to the quick.
Henley was fast asleep with her head resting on the bed near Jack. Next to her was Merritt, eyes closed and cheek propped up on his fist, just about ready to slip off and crash into the arm of the chair.
Jack relaxed, just slightly, at the sight of the two of them alive and well. Here, next to him.
Then, the door swung open with a resounding creeeak and he was plunged back into the basement. Jack’s breathing picked up and he was so cold, just waiting for the scalpel to be plunged into him again while he was alone and invisible.
He should’ve known he wasn’t safe.
He would never be safe.
“—ack? Jack!” Hands were on his shoulders and he was trapped. God he needed to get out just let him out! “It’s Danny! You’re not there anymore Jack just look at me! Please!”
It was the please that snapped him out of it. Daniel never said please.
The blurry form in front of him coalesced into Daniel Atlas, and Jack had never been happier to see his face.
“…Danny?” He managed to croak out, throat protesting the effort.
Still, Daniel smiled at him, relief stark in his expression. “Yeah, it’s me. Here, I got you some water.” He held something out and it took Jack a beat too long to realize that it was indeed a glass of water.
Jack took it in a shaky hand, unwilling to let go of Henley’s with his other. He managed to bring it up to his lips and take a deep drink, mindless of the way some of it spilled down his chin. Something moved beside him and Jack looked over to see Henley and Merritt sitting upright, concern and anger colouring their faces in equal measure.
It was the anger that made him shrink back a little. “I’m sorry. I know I messed up by getting caught but I swear I didn’t tell him any—”
Merritt waved his hands, cutting him off. “Woah, slow down there, Jacky! We’re not mad at you, okay? We’re angry at him for what he did to you. We were worried about you, kid.”
“Terrified,” Henley added, clutching his hand even tighter now that she was awake. “We thought you were—” her voice cut off for a second, “We’ve been looking for you for a week. Since the moment you disappeared. Danny hasn’t slept, Merritt’s worn several of his hats down by pulling at them, I’ve barely been able to eat.”
She looked him right in the eye, reaching up and wiping away some of the tears that Jack hadn’t even realized were falling, “We noticed. Those screens lied to you. We knew you were gone and we didn’t stop looking until we got you back, okay?”
Jack let out a stuttering breath, but nodded. He’d hoped that it was the case, but after a while it was hard to believe that they’d even want to come for him. The screens had only confirmed what he thought he’d known.
Merritt snapped his fingers in front of Jack’s face. Not to hypnotize him, just to get his attention, “Hey, stop that. Of course we looked for you.” Jack should’ve known that he wouldn’t be able to keep anything from someone who made a living reading minds. “You’re not invisible, Jack. You might be young, but that doesn’t make you lesser. You’re a Horseman, and we’re all equals here. You’re necessary to the group, and even if you weren’t, we’d still love you.”
Jack laughed wetly, “I love you guys too. Speaking of, where’s Dylan? I thought that he’d—um, that he’d be here.”
“He will be,” Henley reassured him, “He’s just taking care of some Eye business in another room. He’ll be here soon.”
The tears kept flowing and Jack didn’t bother trying to stop them. He closed his eyes briefly, letting his head fall back on the soft pillows before looking back up at Daniel, who still stood at the foot of the bed.
Except he wasn’t looking at Jack. Rather, he was staring at the bandages that wrapped Jack’s chest.
“What does it say?” Jack’s voice came out as a whisper, but it still seemed to startle Daniel whose eyes jumped up to meet his like a deer caught in headlights. “I wasn’t allowed to look,” he explained, “Please, I need to know.”
He glanced over to Henley and Merritt, but they were both watching Daniel, waiting to see what he’d say.
Daniel straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath before saying, “Uh— It says ‘Jack of all trades, master of none.’”
Silence fell as Jack’s heart crumbled a little bit. “Oh.”
“That’s not the whole phrase, you know.” Of course, Dylan had to make a dramatic entrance, wry smile softening when his eyes landed on Jack. “Hey, kid. How’re you feeling?”
Jack laughed, then winced. “Like I got stabbed. Thanks for saving my ass out there. I wasn’t sure if, uh…”
He trailed off, but everyone knew what he meant. It showed in the way Henley squeezed his hand, in the way they all blinked in an effort to hide shiny eyes.
It was depressing, and Jack still felt cold and empty. “Do you guys wanna join me? I mean, the bed’s pretty comfy and should fit us all if we squish together.”
Please, he didn’t say, it feels like my body’s unraveling and I’m still not fully convinced this is real. I need to feel this. I can’t hold myself together on my own.
Merritt stared at him knowingly, because of course he was, but surprisingly it was Daniel who climbed up next to him first. He rearranged Jack until he was tucked under Daniel’s chin, and it didn’t take long for the rest to join. Merritt on his right, Henley climbed over them to be on his left and Dylan lay down beside her, an arm reached over to rest on his leg while he kept an eye on the door.
They were careful of his wounds, but they knew him, and they leaned into him with as much force as they dared, keeping him from falling apart.
Jack was surrounded by his family. Enclosed. Protected. Safe.
“What’s the rest of the phrase?” Jack asked into the room, to a few questioning stares. He looked at Dylan, “Jack of all trades, master of none. What comes after that?”
Dylan smiled, “Jack of all trades, master of none.” His tone grew warm and he squeezed Jack’s leg, “Though oftentimes better than a master of one. Henry Fowler, that was his name, only had one trick, and that was inflicting pain on others.”
Henley hooked her chin on Jack’s shoulder, “You’re good at so many things, you pick up all our tricks faster than we ever did. Not only that, but you’re kind and generous. I’m grateful every day that I met you.”
“Yeah, kid,” Merritt said, “One day, you’re going to outshine all of us.”
The warmth in Jack’s chest only grew as he felt Daniel’s scoff underneath him, “Well, I wouldn’t say all of us, old-timer.”
“Hey! Who are you calling old-timer, Mr. I-know-fifty-two-tricks?”
“How did you even know that?”
Henley was laughing quietly at his side and Dylan was watching all of them fondly, and Jack had never felt more cherished than in that very moment.
So, surrounded by the playful bickering of his family, in the comfort of their embrace, Jack closed his eyes and let himself fall into a deep, heavy sleep.