Jack
Dawn thinned the sky to that pale, bruised blue that makes the pines look like cutouts. Jack slipped back through the trees and paused at the edge of the clearing, listening.
The safe house breathed. Boards settled. Night insects gave way to birds. Inside, Scarlett let out a soft, bubbling sigh—the kind of sound that had become the metronome of his restraint. Molly didn’t stir.
He stepped onto the porch and pressed two fingers to the doorjamb, leaving a fresh scent mark—his, layered over his guards’. Jace rumbled his approval. Mine to protect. Jack closed his eyes for a second, swallowed the ache that came with that word, and forced himself away.
Tyler was on a stump with a thermos, boots dug into the dirt, a smear of pine sap on his sleeve. He offered the cup without speaking. Ja
