Chapter 1: The Weight of Paper
The silence inside the highway diner felt heavier than the diesel exhaust hanging in the midday heat outside. Jax stared at the small folded paper the eight-year-old boy had placed next to the faded photograph. His leather vest, adorned with patches earned through years of hard living, suddenly felt suffocating.
"What is this, kid?" Jax’s voice was gravelly, a rough shield built over decades of keeping the world at arm's length.
The boy, whose name Jax had yet to learn, didn't flinch. His hazel eyes remained steady, filled with a mixture of hope and cautious courage. "A letter. From her. She said if I ever found you, I should give it to you."
Behind the counter, Martha the waitress paused, her pot of black coffee hovering inches above a ceramic mug. The surrounding rumble of motorcycle engines from the rally outside seemed to fade into a distant hum. Jax’s hand, calloused and scarred, slowly extended toward the paper. His fingers trembled—a microscopic movement that only someone looking closely would notice.
He unfolded the paper. The handwriting was unmistakably Lara’s: delicate, precise, yet faint near the bottom edge. If you are reading this, Jax, it means I am gone, and Leo has found his way to you. He has your stubborn eyes. Give him a chance.
May you like
Jax swallowed hard, his throat dry. He looked up from the page to the small boy standing in scuffed sneakers and a worn jacket. "Where is she, Leo?"
"She went to sleep three weeks ago," Leo whispered softly, his voice cracking slightly before he pulled his lips into a tight line. "And she didn't wake up."
