Jaxon’s POV
I sat at the far end of the balcony, the weight of the night resting heavily on my shoulders. The stars on the sky blinked like indifferent spectators, distant and different. The soft hum of people echoed below—laughter, music, footsteps of festival goers going with joy. But none of it reached me.
I stared at my watch. Deric was late.
The longer I waited, the more the questions tangled in my head like thorny vines. I felt the shift in the air before I heard the footsteps. Familiar, sharp, calculated.
Deric.
He emerged from the darkness, his long coat flaring behind him.
“You’re late,” I muttered, not looking at him.
“I had matters to attend to,” he replied, tone smooth, too smooth.
We greeted briefly, a nod, a stiff handshake—brothers in name, strangers in truth.
Deric
