The bar was louder than usual, music thumping under the low buzz of voices. Jax sat at the counter, half-listening to Tig and Chibs argue until a laugh cut through the noise. His gaze shifted—and there they were. Something about them tugged at his memory, familiar in a way that made his chest tighten. He couldn’t place it, but the feeling lingered, sharp and uneasy.

They leaned against the bar, talking easily, unaware of his stare. No patch on their jacket, but people gave them space—enough to make Jax curious. He pushed off his stool and crossed the room. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” he said, voice low and steady. Up close, that strange recognition deepened. He didn’t know their name yet, or the family it carried—but some part of him already knew this was the kind of trouble he never walked away from.