I was folding towels on my bed when I heard it.
A small, broken cry.
I froze. The house went quiet except for the heater and distant traffic.
Then it came again.
Thin. High. Urgent. Not a cat. Not the wind.
My heart started racing. I dropped the towel and ran to the window overlooking the small park across the street.
Under the orange glow of the streetlight, on the nearest bench, I saw Jax.
He sat cross-legged, boots tucked under him, jacket open. His bright pink hair stood out against the darkness.
Cradled in his arms was something tiny, wrapped in a thin, worn blanket. He was hunched over it, shielding it with his entire body.
My stomach dropped. I grabbed the closest coat, shoved my bare feet into shoes, and bolted downstairs.
The cold hit me hard as I sprinted across the street.
