Mia
We carefully inch toward the front door of the adjoining room, flanked on either side by two young figures in tuxedos, oddly missing their jackets, their crisp white shirts stark against the dim light. The pair exchange an intricate cloth bag, its vibrant patterns swirling in the soft glow, with a practiced, almost ritualistic air. As we draw closer, their sharp focus narrows solely on Jaxon, a silent exchange of understanding passing between them. But I've grown weary of being sidelined, particularly in this realm where I thoroughly understand the intricate dynamics at play. Jaxon receives the bag without a word, his acknowledgment limited to a curt nod, a silent communication, before he steps into alignment beside me, a silent sentinel ready for what’s to come.
The entrance stretch
