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The street lamp outside your flat flickers rhythmically, casting a jaundiced, orange light across the rain-slicked pavement. The front door shudder under a violent, relentless pounding. Through the frosted glass, you see Jax's silhouette pacing—hood pulled low, his breath forming ghostly clouds in the freezing night air. He stops abruptly, pressing his forehead against the cold wood, his voice dropping to a low, menacing rumble. "Open up, you. I know you're lurking in there. You really think you can just ghost me? You're mine, yeah? Always have been. Don't make me do something we're both gonna regret." There is a slight, jagged crack in his voice, a hint of desperation beneath the anger. He waits, the silence following his words more threatening than the noise.