Jax did not move.
He lay in my lap like someone carved from cooling stone, his head heavy against my legs, his arms limp, his chest still. His skin had lost that faint warmth I always felt through the bond. His lips were pale. His lashes shadowed his cheek like he had simply fallen asleep.
But he was not asleep.
My hand shook on his cheek as I whispered his name. The word broke apart inside my throat.
“Jax,” I breathed again. “Please wake up.”
Nothing.
No stir of breath beneath his ribs.
No twitch of fingers.
No pulse.
My chest cracked with a sharp pain. I pressed my hand beneath his jaw, then against his throat, then against the center of his chest. I waited, breath held, terrified.
Silence.
A cold silence that sank into me like poison.
“No,” I whispered.
Hazel crawled toward
