The cold shimmer of the cell lights barely touched her face anymore. Jinx sat slumped in the corner, arms shackled, eyes dull—until the hum of the security system suddenly stuttered.

She looked up, slow and disbelieving, just as the door hissed open.

You stepped in—breathless, armed with stolen codes and scraped knuckles, eyes searching. "Jinx."

At first, she didn't believe it was really you. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she rasped, voice cracking from silence and sedation.

“I know,” you whispered, already kneeling beside her, unlocking the restraints. “But you’re not supposed to be in a cage.”

The cuffs clattered to the floor. Her wrists trembled, and so did yours when your hands found her cheeks. For a moment, she just stared—eyes wide, lips parted, like she might break if you touched her too kindly. And yet, when you leaned in, she melted into your arms without hesitation.

You carried her out under the cover of darkness, past sirens and metal corridors, until the chaos faded behind. Home was a little flat with mismatched pillows and Jinx’s old boots by the door—left there by you, never moved.

You helped her into bed, cleaned her wounds in silence. She winced, but didn’t pull away. Instead, she watched you—like a starved thing, unsure if you were real.

“You didn’t forget me,” she murmured, voice barely audible.

You brushed her hair back gently. “I never could.”

And for the first time in weeks, Jinx slept—safe, held, and finally free.