Eight months.
Eight months of searching.
Eight months of dead ends.
Eight months of staring at the same walls, asking the same questions, getting the same answers.
Nothing.
Jax stands at the far end of the great hall, his back to the long table where his parents and closest allies sit.
His hands are clasped behind his back.
His shoulders are tight.
His jaw is clenched so hard that the muscles in his neck stand out like cords.
He paces.
One end of the hall to the other. Turn. Back again. Turn. Back again.
His boots echo on the stone floor.
Alpha Drake Knox watches his son from the head of the table, his golden eyes are tired.
He has seen Jax like this before—obsessed, restless, unable to let go, but never like this, never for so long.
"Jax," Drake says, his deep voice cu
