Nina
Jaxon moves to my side, his hand on my shoulder. “We’ll figure this out,” he says, his voice steady.
I nod, but inside, I’m falling apart. Elijah’s right about one thing: time is running out.
The smug bastard had slipped through our fingers like smoke, leaving behind nothing but chaos and a threat that sticks in my mind like a thorn.
Jaxon sits across from me, his shirt ripped and bloodied. His knuckles are bruised, and there’s a cut across his jaw that’s still bleeding. He leans back in his chair, eyes shut, breathing heavily. For a moment, he looks like he might pass out.
“Let me see that,” I mutter, grabbing the first aid kit from the table.
He opens one eye, his lips quirking into something that might have been a smirk if he weren’t so exhausted. “You’re bossier than usual.”
