Jay is missing three days before they find him, hanging from his wrists in a dockhouse, lips blue, not breathing - suspension by the arms having strained his lungs. They cut him down, smuggle him to safety, bandage his wounds. Wait for the barrier to catapult his soul back to them.
:::
Evie isn't smiling - that would cause wrinkles. But the corners of her pouted lips are upturned and she feels good. There's a rusted pipe resting across her shoulders, wrists hanging over it casually. She grinds the heel of her stiletto further into the neck of the man on the ground.