Chapter 5: Questions By The Hearth
The fire snapped, shooting a tiny cluster of golden sparks against the iron screen as the room grew quiet around us. Most of the other riders had drifted away into the back quarters of the compound, leaving only Jax and the silver-haired woman, whose name I had learned was Martha. She had finished rubbing the dampness from my hair with a warm towel and had coaxed me into an oversized flannel shirt that swallowed my small frame entirely. I sat cross-legged on the deep leather sofa, my fingers tracing the damp, frayed edges of Galrriets while Jax pulled up a heavy wooden stool and sat down directly across from me.
He rested his forearms on his knees, his rugged face shadowed by the dim light of the dying flames. He didn't push or raise his voice, giving me all the time I needed to gather my thoughts. "You're safe here, Maya," he said softly, using my first name for the first time. "Nobody is going to hurt you, and nobody is going to make you stand out in that rain again. But I need to know how you got there. Who put you on that highway?" I swallowed hard, the taste of the warm broth still lingering in my throat as the memory of Evelyn’s cold face pressed against the dark SUV window flashed vividly behind my eyes.
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"Evelyn," I whispered, my voice barely audible above the crackle of the wood. "My stepmom." Jax’s jaw tightened visibly, a muscle ticking along his stubbled cheek, but he kept his breathing slow and even. "She said my father's estate was settled," I continued, staring down at the hand-drawn map inside the book's cover. "She said I didn't belong in the house anymore. When the car stopped, she told me to get out and count to a hundred before I looked back." Martha let out a soft, sharp gasp of disbelief, covering her mouth with her hand, but Jax remained utterly still, absorbing every word with calculated precision.
"Did she take your things?" Jax asked, his voice dropping into a register that carried an edge of cold steel beneath its gentle tone. I shook my head, clutching the battered book tighter against the thick flannel shirt. "Just this. Dad gave it to me before he got sick. Evelyn always hated it. She said it was childish trash that cluttered up the library." Jax reached out slowly, his large, rough hand resting briefly and reassuringly over my knuckles. "Well, she's not going to touch it ever again," he promised quietly, making a silent vow in the amber firelight that would change both of our lives forever.
