And there he is.
Jack.
And yeah. There’s no mistaking where he’s from. Varek described him to me… accurately.
He’s built like the outback—solid, grounded, the kind of bloke who looks like he’s spent most of his life under a brutal sun and come out the other side tougher for it. Dust and grit might be gone, but it’s still in him. It’s in the way he stands, in the way he watches everything like he’s already assessed the exits and decided which one he’d take if things went sideways.
That and he’s wearing an Akubra on his head. The sight of it hits me with a wave of nostalgia.
“Oi,” Sonny calls. “Look who finally got off his arse.”
Jack turns. His gaze fixes on me, intense and assessing.
It’s not unfriendly. Just… thorough.
Then he nods once. “You’re up.”
“Observant,” I say.
A corner of his mouth rises. “Good. Means you didn’t cark it.”
“Not yet.”
He steps forward, offering a hand. I take it. His grip is firm but not testing. It’s solid.
“Jack,” he says.
“Pax.”
“Yeah. Heard.”
Of course he has. Nothing stays quiet around here.
“Still breathing,” I add.
“Good start.”
Sonny snorts behind me. “Jesus, you two are the same person.”
Jack shoots him a look. “Not sure if either of us should be insulted by that.”
I huff a laugh despite myself. Yeah. I like this guy.
We settle into the space easily enough. Jack leans back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. Sonny drops onto one of the crates like he’s claimed it permanently. I stay standing for a moment, then decide my ribs are not as committed to this plan as I am and ease down onto the edge of the table.
Jack watches me settle. “You’re moving like someone who got hit by a truck.”
“Close,” I say. “Royal guards.”
“Ah. Worse.”
“Significantly.”
He nods like that tracks.
“How long you been here?” I ask.
“About three months,” he says. “Give or take.”
