Jax’s P.O.V

The house was a storm. Strobe lights cut the air into fragments, shadows jerking in and out of focus, laughter warping into something almost feral. I could feel it on my skin—the kind of night where anything could happen, where the wrong move could twist everything into ruin.

And I knew, deep down, that Ronan was here.

I hadn’t seen him yet, but his presence was a ghost in the room, like the press of static before a lightning strike. I’d caught whispers—his name in the ...