<b>Jericho grabbed his worn leather jacket from the couch, shoving his arms into the sleeves with a huff. His head was pounding—whether from frustration or the lingering buzz of alcohol, he wasn’t sure. Just as he reached for his keys, his phone buzzed again. Freya. </b><b><i>Again</i></b><b>.</b>


    <b>With a sigh, he answered. "Hello."</b>


    <b>"Hey," Freya’s voice was firm but laced with concern. "Phoebe, Iris, and Sean are on their way to help you find Irene."</b>


    <b>Jericho clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around his phone. "I don’t need anyone’s help to find my sister." His words came out sharper than intended, irritation prickling beneath his skin.</b>


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    <b>Freya let out a frustrated breath. "Yes, you do. Jericho, you sound drunk, and I don’t need you or Irene getting hurt because you’re too damn stubborn to accept help. We’re trying to make this easier for you."</b>


    <b>He opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself. She was right. As much as he hated to admit it, his head wasn’t clear, and the storm outside was growing worse by the second. After a tense pause, he exhaled through his nose. "Fine."</b>


    <b>"Good. They should be there soon."</b>


    <b>Jericho ran a hand through his hair, already dreading the inevitable back-and-forth with Phoebe. "Yeah. Got it."</b>


    <b>"Be careful, Jericho."</b>


    <b>His throat tightened slightly, but he masked it with indifference. "Yeah, yeah. Talk later." He hung up before she could say anything else, shoving his phone into his pocket.</b>


    <b>The storm outside rumbled as he grabbed his keys and headed for the door.</b>