The arches trembled before the sound reached us.Ash stirred, swirling like it was listening for footsteps. For a second I thought it was the city breathing again—then the noise turned into cursing loud enough to shame thunder.
We heard him before we saw him—swearing at the architecture in escalating poetry. Jax lurched in from the south arcade, hair a mess, knee wrapped with tape that had given up on being adhesive and decided to be a suggestion. He spotted us, grinned like a bad sun, and pretended the limp was a swagger.
"You two have a talent for finding the ugliest parts of town," Jax said when he finally limped through the smoke. His voice was gravel—same as always—but his eyes looked like they hadn't closed in a week. He took one look at me, then at the black-red harness flexing over my ribs. "Huh. You look like allegedly you."
"Allegedly," I said. "Got you a present."
"Unless it's a new knee, pass."
"Close."
