I read that line twice, and then I read it a third time just to watch it sit there on the page.
Past Jace, the guy from week one with the spreadsheet and the death clock, would have skipped straight to the collar clause like a kid tearing open a birthday present. That guy would have missed the whole point. Blair Davenport had sat down at midnight to put her surrender in writing, and the first thing she made her lawyer write was the exit door. She had built herself a fire escape before she built anything else.
Good, I thought, and I meant it with my whole chest. If she had left it out, I would have written it in myself with a gel pen.
The graft gave a slow warm pulse behind my ribs, as though it had read the clause over my shoulder and approved.
Clause Seven was the collar, and I grinned so hard my face hurt.
