Jax's P.O.V.
I was on my feet before I even registered what had happened. The shattered glass on the floor glinted under the dim light, the bottle spinning to a slow stop. My eyes darted to the window, the jagged hole in the glass letting in the cold night air.
“Stay here,” I told Sam, my voice sharp, leaving no room for an argument.
I moved toward the window, scanning the darkness outside. Whoever had thrown that bottle was gone—if they’d ever been there long enough to be seen. The streets were eerily silent, but my blood was anything but calm.
Sam was behind me in an instant, ignoring my order. “Jax, what is this?” she asked, her voice shaky, her eyes on the bottle.
I bent down, picking it up carefully. The note tied to it was already damp, the edges of the paper crinkling. I untied
