Jax’s POV
Seventy-two hours.
Exactly this much time had passed since the heavy oak door of my bedroom had quietly, but irrevocably closed, shutting the world away from me. For three days I had been sitting on the threshold, on the cold stone of the corridor, leaning my back against the wood. I hadn't moved, except when nature called, and I hadn't allowed myself the luxury of sleep even once.
My pack respected the command. No one came to the corridor, no one disturbed me; only Silas brought up the trays loaded with fresh, warm food three times a day. But every time I opened the door a crack to slide the tray in, then pulled it back out hours later... the plates were untouched.
Freya wasn't eating. Not a single bite. The meats had dried out, the soups had grown cold. Only the water glass
