[Emma's POV]
The calm, the control, the rigid, unyielding discipline that Jaxon wore like a suit of armor—it didn't just break. It detonated.
The moment Ryder’s chilling analysis settled in the room—the proof that this was a calculated, intimate violation, not a random strike—something in Jaxon’s core fractured with an almost audible snap. The air in the ravaged farmhouse grew thick and heavy, pressing down on them like a physical weight, saturated with the scent of ozone and the gathering static of a cataclysmic storm. The very light in the room seemed to dim, drawn into the vortex of his silent, building rage.
He didn't shout. He didn't roar. He simply turned, a study in contained cataclysm, and walked out the splintered front door. His movements were unnervingly precise, each footfal
