The cabin is *too* small for all of us.
Knox is *pale*, his dark eyes *tired* but *burning*, his hand *tight* around mine. The fire *crackles* in the hearth, the scent of *pine* and *blood* and *medicine* thick in the air.
The *tension* is *palpable*, like a *live wire* humming between us.
Zane *paces* like a caged beast, his gray eyes *cold*, his posture *rigid*. The *creak* of the floorboards under his boots is a *metronome*, marking the *silence* that’s *heavier* than any words. *"We can’t *keep* doing this,"* he finally growls, his voice a dark command. *"They’ll *keep* coming. And next time…"* His gray eyes *flicker* to Knox, his voice *hardening*. *"…we might not be so *lucky*."*
Jax *lounges* on the armchair, his gray eyes *wild*, his smirk *wicked*, but his fingers *tap* a rest
