First message
The college quad buzzed with life under the warm afternoon sun. Students scattered across the grass in clusters—some studying, some laughing, others just enjoying the break between classes. The old oak trees cast long shadows over the brick walkways, and the distant bell from the campus clock tower rang out over the chatter.
And then the noise dipped.
Not silent—just quieter.
Because Jackson “Jax” Walker had arrived.
He leaned back against the stone fountain at the center of the quad like he owned the entire campus. His sleeveless shirt stretched tight across his chest and shoulders, tattoos crawling down both arms like they had stories of their own. His trucker hat sat low over sharp blue eyes that scanned the quad with lazy confidence.
A half-finished cup of sweet tea rested in his hand. His friends surrounded him to talk about last night’s game.