He herds me up the stairs.
I walk into the cabin, but my mind is miles away. I’m running calculations. I’m looking at the variables.
Variable A: I stay. Jax fights. Jax dies.
Variable B: I surrender. Jax lives. I die.
Survival instinct screams at me to choose Variable A. But looking at his broad back as he locks the door, looking at the way he favors his left leg where the transformation torque hit him hard...
I can't do it. I can't be the reason he becomes a trophy on a wall.
I sit on the bed, watching him check the window shutters.
"Get some rest," he says without turning around. "I’ll take first watch."
"Okay," I lie.
I lie down, pulling the blanket up. I close my eyes, mimicking the rhythm of sleep.
But under the blanket, my hand finds the handle of the knife he gave me. The cold steel presses against my palm.
I wait. I wait for his breathing to deepen. I wait for the Wolf to settle.
If I leave, I take the target with me. If I leave, the siege ends.
I stare at the dark ceiling, tears tracking hot lines into my hair.
I have to fix this.
20
JAX
Her breathing is wrong.
I’m lying next to her in the dark, staring at the ceiling beams where the shadows cling like bats. Miranda is curled on her side, facing away from me, the blanket pulled up to her ear. She’s mimicking the rhythm of sleep—long, slow inhalations, steady exhalations—but it’s not working the way she wants it to be.
Her heart is beating too fast. It’s a frantic, staccato rhythm against her ribs. And the scent coming off her isn't the heavy, sweet musk of sleep. It’s salt. Sharp, acrid anxiety.
And underneath that, the cold steel smell of the knife I gave her. She’s gripping it under the pillow.
"Stop pretending," I say. My voice is rough, scraping against the silence.
She stiffens. The rhythm of her breathing hitches, then speeds up.
"I don't know what you mean," she whispers, her voice tight.
"You're awake. Your heart is hammering like a trapped bird. And you're planning on walking out that door the second I drift off."
I sit up, the mattress groaning under my weight. I reach out and grab her shoulder, rolling her onto her back. She resists for a split second, then goes limp.
In the dim light filtering through the shutters, I see her face. Her eyes are wet. Tears are tracking hot, silver lines into her hair.
"It’s the only way, Jax," she says, the words spilling out in a rush. "I ran the numbers. I looked at the variables. If I stay, they burn this place down with you inside it. If I leave... the target moves. The siege ends."
"The siege ends because you’ll be dead," I growl.
"Better me than you," she chokes out. "Better me than the Pack. I brought this here. I’m the anomaly. I have to fix the equation."
