The Nest was a tomb of silvered wood and rusted iron, buried so deep in the Blackwood state forest that the GPS had given up ten miles back, leaving them to navigate by the memory of a road Julian hadn't traveled in a decade. It was a sprawling hunting lodge that had seen better decades, its cedar walls grayed by the elements and its windows narrow like gun slits. As the SUV’s headlights cut through the thick, pre-dawn mist, the structure loomed out of the dark like a jagged ribcage. This was where the Vane name had been forged in moonshine and blood, long before the bespoke suits and the glass towers. This was the dirt beneath the empire.
Julian didn't wait for Jax to kill the engine. He stepped out into the damp, pine-scented air, his boots crunching on the gravel with a sound that felt
