I found Jax alone in the garage later that evening, elbow-deep in an engine that looked considerably more temperamental than anything I'd worked on in my own shop, and the familiar sight of someone else's hands moving with practiced competence through machinery pulled me toward him before I'd fully decided to approach.
"Need a hand?" I asked.
He glanced up, surprised, then gestured toward the toolbox without further comment, apparently deciding my presence required no additional justification. We worked in companionable silence for a while, trading tools and observations about the engine's stubborn timing belt, before he finally spoke without looking up from his work.
"You held your own in there today. Council's not gentle with outsiders."
"Ronan did most of the holding."
"Ronan gave
