part two: chapter 1: Two Years Later
The land was quiet.
Not peaceful — just quiet in that uneasy way things get when they’ve forgotten how to scream.
Jax stood at the edge of the property, staring out over the pine line. His boots were planted in red Georgia clay. His hands were in his jacket pockets. And somewhere behind him, Sienna was singing.
Soft. Off-key. Real.
They’d carved this life from smoke and ash. Built it with old wood and stubborn hands. A garden. A fence. Even a wind chime made from spent shell casings that clinked like memory.
But peace?
It was never permanent.
Not for him.
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The Signal Returns
The first sign came through the old radio.
The one he hadn’t touched in sixteen months.
Three bursts of static. A pause. Then a tone — low, sharp, calibrated.
Jax
