The penthouse was too quiet. Raven sat curled on the edge of Jaxon’s bed, her body still humming from the adrenaline of everything that had happened.
He hadn’t said much since he returned. Not a word about Zane. Not a word about the damage. Only that sharp, steady silence of his, the kind that made every sound in the room feel too loud.
She had seen him angry before. She had seen him ruthless, but tonight she had seen something worse, Jaxon cold, the kind of cold that didn’t rage, didn’t bark orders, just destroyed.
When the elevator doors slid open behind her, Raven didn’t turn. She knew that deliberate rhythm of his steps, heavy and unhurried, like a man who never feared walking into a room.
“Where is he?” she asked without looking at him. Her voice came out thin.
“Gone,” Jaxon said
