My breath caught in my throat as I quickly set the letter back inside the box, heart thudding like a drum in my chest. I froze, praying I hadn''t made a sound—no creak of the floorboards, no rustle of paper. Maybe if I stayed still enough, I could pretend I hadn''t been here at all.


    The footsteps were getting louder, closer—Jax was almost at the top of the stairs.


    Shit.


    I scrambled toward the corner of the room, pressing myself behind the door and into the shadows. My fingers curled around the edge of the frame, tight and trembling, pulse racing so loud it drowned out everything else. I held my breath, listening.


    The footsteps stopped just outside the door.


    For one agonizing second, there was nothing—no sound except for my own shallow breathing and the pounding in my ears. I could hear him muttering something under his breath, and for a split second, I wanted to roll my eyes. Typical Jax. Always making things harder than they had to be. Of course, I couldn''t just snoop and get out without running into him.


    But then, mercifully, the footsteps moved again. Fading.


    He''s walking away.


    I didn''t move. Not yet. I waited, barely daring to breathe. My hands were still shaking. I clutched the doorframe tighter and counted the seconds, willing myself to stay still. The letter, the box—it all weighed heavy in my thoughts, but I couldn''t let myself spiral now.


    Not when I was still so close to getting caught.


    Once the silence settled again, wrapping the room in stillness, I finally exhaled. My body relaxed—just a little.


    But as I straightened, ready to slip out and pretend none of this had happened, I froze.


    Jax was standing in the doorway.


    His hand still rested on the knob, and his gaze was locked on me. I couldn''t read his expression. He wasn''t smiling. He wasn''t smirking. He just... stared.


    Time stretched thin between us, taut and unmoving. My heart stuttered in my chest.


    Did he know?


    I opened my mouth to speak—anything—but the words wouldn''t come. I just stood there, eyes flicking from the floor to his face. He looked different. Not playful. Not cocky. For a fleeting second, something serious flickered behind his eyes. But it passed too fast for me to be sure.


    "Well," he said at last, voice casual—but edged with something else. "Didn''t take you for the snooping type. But... here we are."


    I forced myself to stand straighter, shaking off the panic curling up my spine. I wasn''t about to admit anything.


    "I was just... looking for something," I muttered, too quickly, too defensive. "Not like you don''t dig through my stuff when I''m not around."


    That earned a flicker of a smirk. Just a small one, but it made my skin prickle. He didn''t answer right away—just studied me with that tilted-head look of his, like I was some kind of puzzle he hadn''t quite solved.


    "Be more careful next time," he said, his voice lighter now, but not quite playful. There was something tucked beneath it. Curiosity, maybe. Or something else I couldn''t place.


    Then he stepped back, hand leaving the doorknob. "You want to sit down? You''re not looking so great."


    I hesitated, searching his face, trying to read between the lines. Something had shifted, and I didn''t know what it was, but I felt it all the same.


    "Yeah, sure," I said quietly, unsure even as the words left my mouth.


    I moved toward the chair near the window and sat, back to him. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to untangle the thoughts still clawing at the edges of my mind.


    Behind me, I could hear him moving—opening a drawer, placing something on the table. I didn''t look. Just the sound of him being there stirred something weird in my chest. Something warm and uncomfortable.


    Then his voice came, softer this time. "You good?"


    I almost laughed. Was I good? I hadn''t been good in a long time. But I wasn''t about to say that out loud.


    "I''m fine," I said, keeping it clipped. Solid. I glanced at him for a moment, then looked away again.


    I leaned forward in the chair, elbows resting on my knees, my fingers itched. Not from guilt. Not exactly. But from something else I couldn''t name. Something like... regret. I shouldn''t have gone through his things.


    I heard the clink of glass; the soft sound of liquid being poured. I could practically feel his presence shifting around the room, that same casual confidence he always carried. But it was quieter now. More... restrained.


    Then, the soft thud of a cup landing on the table beside me.


    I turned my head slightly, just enough to see the chipped mug he''d set down near my elbow. Tea. Or what passed for tea in this part of town.


    I blinked, caught off guard. "I didn''t know you had the mothering instinct."


    He didn''t laugh, but there was a faint glimmer in his eye when I glanced up at him. "Don''t push it," he said. "That''s the last of my stash. Thought you could use it more than me."


    That made something shift in my chest again. I hated it. This softness. This quiet kind of care. It was easier when he was being a smug bastard.


    I picked up the cup anyway. The warmth seeped into my fingers, grounding me.


    "I thought you were out for the day," I said eventually, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.


    He raised an eyebrow. "I was. Plans changed."


    "Because of me?"


    "Because someone decided to break into my room," he said, voice light, but not sharp. "Figured I should come home before my place went up in flames."


    I rolled my eyes, more out of habit than anything else. "It wasn''t your room I was looking for."


    He tilted his head, amused. "No? Could''ve fooled me, the way you were crouched over my stuff like a little thief."


    I stiffened. "I''m not—"


    "Relax," he cut in, voice softening again. "I didn''t say that like it was a bad thing."


    I narrowed my eyes at him. "That supposed to be funny?"


    He smiled, slow and easy. "Wouldn''t dare."


    I hated how that smile always seemed to dig under my skin. Like he knew me. Like he saw me—more than I wanted him to.


    "You''re not gonna ask?" I said after a beat, not looking at him. "About why I was in here?"


    A pause.


    Then his voice, low. "Would it matter if I did?"


    I turned to face him, slowly. He was leaning against the wall now, arms crossed, watching me with that same unreadable look from earlier. Except this time, it wasn''t cold. It wasn''t even suspicious. Just... patient.


    Gods, that was worse.


    "I don''t know," I admitted, voice low. "Maybe."


    He studied me for a long moment, walking toward the window. He didn''t get too close—just stood beside me, looking out into the same nothing.


    "I figured you''d come around eventually," he said. "Curiosity always did get the better of you. Like a moth to a flame, or a thief to locked doors."


    "Is that why you left it where I could find it?"


    That earned me a small smirk. "Maybe."


    "Ass."


    "Compliment accepted."


    I snorted, despite myself. The tea was bitter and lukewarm, but I sipped it anyway. The silence returned, but this time, I wasn''t fighting it.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    I glanced at him again, and for a moment, I almost asked. About the letter. About the name I saw. About what the hell it meant. But something held me back.


    Not yet.


    Jax stepped away from the window, stretching his arms behind his head like nothing in the world weighed on him. "Oh, by the way," he said over his shoulder, his voice slipping back into that infuriatingly smug drawl, "I told Rogan you''re not making your shift today."


    I blinked, cup halfway to my lips. "You what?"


    "Don''t worry," he added quickly, turning to face me with a lazy grin. "I told him you were sick. Deathly pale, high fever, barely able to stand. Real dramatic stuff. Almost had me convinced."


    "I''m not sick," I muttered, setting the cup down with a dull thud. "I forgot I had work, that''s all. I was gonna go."


    He crossed the room in a few easy strides, placing one hand firmly on the back of my chair before I could stand. The other hovered near the table, his body leaning just enough to make the space feel smaller. Not in a threatening way—but enough to make my skin prickle.


    "Yeah, and you''re not going," he said, voice smooth like velvet draped over a blade. "You look like you''ve been hit by a cart and dragged halfway across the docks."


    I narrowed my eyes, trying to ignore how close he was. "That your way of saying I look tired?"


    "No," he said, smirking. "That''s my way of saying sit your ass down before you fall over."


    I stiffened, suddenly aware of how he''d bracketed me in with ease—one hand behind me, the other resting just inches from mine. My pulse gave a tiny, traitorous skip.


    Still, I didn''t move. I refused to give him the satisfaction. I kept my face carefully neutral, even as my fingers curled slightly around the edge of the table.


    I hated how effortlessly he made bossing me around sound like a favor. Even worse, I hated how my body reacted—like some na?ve apprentice caught in a spell. But the worst part? He was right.


    He broke the silence again, annoyingly relaxed. "Arty''s gonna stop by later."


    I blinked. "Arty?"


    "Mhm. Said she wanted to see you."


    My brow creased. "She knows you?"


    Jax grinned without opening his eyes. "Everyone knows me."


    I didn''t smile. "No, I mean—how do you two even know each other?"


    That did it.


    There was a pause. His eyes opened now, just slightly, glancing at me with that familiar spark of mischief. His grin widened like I''d just handed him a plate of gold coins wrapped in compliments. I already regretted asking.


    "Oh? That interest in my personal life suddenly blooming, Red?" he said, eyes dancing. "What''s this—jealousy?"


    My eyes narrowed. "Don''t flatter yourself."


    He chuckled, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. "You''re the one poking around in my room and asking about my social life. Starting to think you do care."


    I groaned audibly. "You''re insufferable."


    He nodded solemnly. "It''s a talent."


    I marched toward him, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Answer the question. Why do you know Arty? She is a noble."


    "Who knows, maybe I''m a noble too." he said with exaggerated mystery.


    I snorted. "You live in a second-floor loft that smells like stale rum."


    "Ah, the noble life," he sighed wistfully. "Lavish."


    I narrowed my eyes, unconvinced. "It''s just... she''s not the kind of person who usually hangs around thieves."


    "Ah, but she does hang around one in particular," he said with a theatrical sigh. "It''s a tragic tale, really. Noble girl with a heart too big, runs into a charming rogue with a devil-may-care smile—sparks fly, secrets are shared, dangerous escapades ensue..."


    "Jax."


    He laughed, clearly enjoying himself. "Alright, alright. The truth? I met her a few years back during one of her little ''adventures.'' You know how caged nobles get—they''re cooped up, restricted by their pretty little cages, all rules and expectations. So, they get the itch. They wander. And when they wander, they get into trouble. I happened to be there when she did."


    I blinked, surprised. "You saved her?"


    "Technically, yes," he said with a shrug, his tone light. "But she''d never admit it. She insists we ''handled it together.''" His voice softened slightly, though it was still teasing.


    I tilted my head, processing this. "And you just stayed in touch?"


    "She insisted," Jax said nonchalantly. "I''m good at getting into trouble, and she''s good at pretending she shouldn''t enjoy it."


    I exhaled, a reluctant laugh escaping me. "Gods. That actually tracks."


    "Anyway," he said, his voice taking on a more playful, casual tone as he turned back toward me, a rusted tin in hand, "Arty''s gonna be here later. Might want to fix your hair or something."


    I narrowed my eyes at him. "What''s that supposed to mean?"


    "Oh, nothing," he said, his grin widening with that infuriating brand of innocence he wore like armor. "Just saying you look like someone who slept in a warehouse full of regrets. Not that I''m judging."


    My immediate response was to grab the nearest cushion and throw it at his head. He dodged it effortlessly, that laugh of his sliding under my skin with its usual smugness.


    "Better," he said, his grin sharp and teasing. "That''s the Dawn I know. Now you look like you''re about to start a riot in a tavern, not curl up in some sad little corner with a cup of bitter tea."


    I shot him a dark look, but the words were already out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Keep talking, and I''ll start regretting ever staying here."


    Jax placed a hand dramatically over his heart, eyes wide in mock shock. "You wound me, Red. I''m only trying to help. All this charm—" he gestured vaguely to himself, "—and this is how you repay me?" He sighed deeply, but the playfulness never left his voice.


    I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "I''m not sure which is worse—your teasing or your ego. Maybe both."


    "Oh, definitely both," he agreed easily, still grinning, the lopsided smile spreading across his face like it was second nature.


    He was teasing. It was annoying. But it felt normal. Familiar. Like slipping back into a rhythm I hadn''t realized I''d missed until now. I didn''t say it out loud, but a tiny part of me was grateful of this cheeky thief.


    The sound of a door creaking open from outside broke the rhythm of the room, and we both turned instinctively toward the noise.


    "Jax! You left your damn boots in the middle of the floor again." Irah''s voice rang out from downstairs, dripping with that familiar mix of frustration and resignation. "I''m not cleaning up after you this time."


    Jax let out an exaggerated sigh, but there was no real annoyance behind it—just the knowing tone of someone who had heard this a thousand times. "Ah, my lovely housekeeper," he drawled, casting a glance at me. "You might want to keep your distance. He''s in one of his organizing moods."


    "I''m sure he''s not that bad," I said, though I didn''t sound entirely convinced.


    Jax raised an eyebrow, the smirk on his lips widening. "You''ll think that until he starts rearranging your entire life like it''s a dungeon crawl. Trust me, you don''t want to be his quest target today."


    Before I could reply, Jax was already heading for the door. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder with a playful glint in his eyes. "You coming, or are you just gonna stand there like a lost kitten?"


    I narrowed my eyes. "I''m not a kitten."


    "You''ve got the look of one, Red," Jax teased, stretching his arms out in exaggerated motions as he stepped into the hallway.


    Reluctantly, I followed, my thoughts still tangled. This whole situation—being here, with them, with Jax—felt like something I''d stepped into without any warning, and now I wasn''t sure how to get out of it.


    We entered the common room, and there was Irah, standing near the window. His arms were crossed, his foot tapping with that methodical rhythm that spoke volumes. His movements were precise, every part of him wound up with that quiet energy that came right before he exploded into action. His gaze swept over Jax''s mess—boots strewn about, a stack of half-read books, a mug with some leftover drink, and an alarming number of empty bottles—and then his eyes narrowed, locking on Jax with a stare that was both exasperated and threatening.


    Jax leaned casually against the doorframe, hands stuffed in his pockets, with a lazy grin on his face. "Take it easy, Irah. It''s all under control."


    Irah''s gaze darkened, his eyes sharp as daggers. "Under control, huh? This place looks like a storm-ravaged forest. It''s a miracle you can even see the ground through all the wreckage."


    "Well, we can''t all be as obsessive as you about keeping things in order," Jax said with a casual shrug. "A little chaos never hurt anyone. Besides, it keeps life interesting."


    Irah''s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening. "You really know how to test my patience, don''t you?"


    Jax''s grin only widened, and he leaned further into the doorframe, clearly enjoying the little game they played. "I do try," he said with a wink.


    Irah''s eyes flicked to me then, his frown softening just slightly. "Didn''t realize we had company," he remarked, his tone still tight but less irritable. He cleared his throat and straightened his posture, his shoulders relaxing as he turned to me with a more formal air. "Apologies for the mess, Dawn. I don''t usually let it get this bad, but Jax..." He gave Jax a pointed look. "Jax tends to leave his things everywhere, and guess who ends up cleaning up after him?"


    I waved it off, shaking my head. "It''s fine. It''s really not a big deal."


    Irah''s eyes briefly flicked to the scattered mess—his frown deepened, and I could see the frustration in the way he looked at Jax''s boots like they were an affront to his very existence. "Still, no excuse. You shouldn''t have to walk into this chaos," he muttered, then turned his glare back to Jax. "You should really try cleaning up after yourself once in a while."


    Jax, utterly unfazed, smirked. "I''m a busy guy. You know how it is. Work keeps me on my toes, and there''s just no time to tidy up."


    Irah''s gaze hardened, his voice now a low, measured growl. "It''s not about being busy. It''s about respect. You''re living in this space, not just using it as a dumping ground. Even if it''s not a palace, you could at least show a little respect for the place."


    I chuckled, stepping further into the room and surveying the mess, my mind still lost in thought. "Honestly, I''ve lived in worse. If I really had a problem with it, I''d say something."


    For a moment, Irah seemed to soften, though his posture remained as stiff as ever. "I appreciate that. But I''d still prefer it if this place wasn''t a disaster. Jax might not care, but I do."


    Jax raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I''ll clean up. Happy now?"


    "Don''t take too long, or I''ll start organizing for you," he warned, though there was something else behind his words now—something sharp, a glint of curiosity that wasn''t there before.


    Jax laughed, turning toward me with a shrug. "Guess I''m not getting out of this one. He''ll drive me crazy until everything''s spotless."


    Irah''s eyes flicked toward me, and there was a brief pause, his gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. He studied me with an odd intensity, as if trying to piece something together. Was it just curiosity? Or was there something deeper, some question he was too careful to ask directly? His eyes softened slightly, but his demeanor remained as steady as ever. "I suppose you''re used to chaos, being around him all the time," he said, the words slipping out almost casually, though his tone was searching.


    "I suppose I could help, though I''m not sure I''d meet your standards," I muttered, moving toward the table where Jax''s papers were scattered, unsure of what to do with myself. The air felt thicker now, charged with something unsaid. I could feel his eyes on me, trying to read more than just the surface of the situation.


    Irah gave a small, almost appreciative nod, his gaze flickering back to Jax. "Thanks, but you''re our guest. You can just relax on the couch. It''s him who needs to clean up, not you."


    Jax rolled his eyes, clearly unbothered by the accusation. "You make it sound like I''m the one responsible for this mess. Maybe if you weren''t so obsessed with tidiness, we wouldn''t have to do this every time."


    Irah''s look was all too familiar—part disbelief, part exasperation. "Maybe if you didn''t leave your stuff everywhere, we wouldn''t have to do this at all."


    Jax grinned, unfazed. "Where''s the fun in that?"


    "Keep talking, and I''ll start—"


    A sharp knock at the door cut Irah off. I flinched, caught mid-threat, hand still raised from throwing the cushion. Jax didn''t seem fazed—of course he didn''t. He was already sauntering over to the door with that same smug ease, like nothing in the world could surprise him.


    "She''s early," he muttered, half to himself, and cracked the door open.


    A blur of pastel and gold burst through the gap like a sunbeam let loose.


    "Dawn!"