Jax's Pov
The heavy oak door of the study clicked shut behind us, the sound deep and final, cutting us off from the rest of the house. Inside, the room felt different, quieter, heavier.
The air carried the scent of old paper, worn leather, and something sharper underneath. Mr. Carter moved toward a small cabinet without speaking. He opened it and took out a bottle of whiskey, pouring it slowly into a crystal glass.
The amber liquid caught the light as it flowed, the ice clinking softly as it settled. He didn't look at me right away. His movements were calm, controlled, almost too careful. The silence stretched, not empty but filled with something unspoken. Finally, he gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. "Sit," he said. His voice was steady, leaving no room for argument.
