Page 56 of Mason

I just focus on Mason’s voice, on the weight of his hand wrapped around mine, the way his thumb brushes slow, steady circles against my skin.

And finally—finally—the tightness in my chest starts to loosen.

The fog starts to lift.

I breathe.

By the time the car slows to a stop, my pulse has steadied, but my body still feels wrung out, exhausted.

I blink, taking in the massive structure in front of us.

A prison.

I frown, my stomach knotting.

Why are we here?

I thought he used that as a ruse to get us away from Saxon North.

I glance at Mason, but he doesn’t look at me.

He’s staring out the windshield, his expression carefully unreadable, his jaw tight.

Minutes pass.

The silence stretches.

Then, the front doors open.

A man in a crisp suit steps out, walking toward the car with purpose, precision.

It takes me a second to understand that he must be the lawyer.

Mason’s lawyer.

The realization settles in, clicking into place.

I turn to Mason, my heart lurching. “Is this about Clay?”

Mason finally meets my gaze. “Yeah.”

The lawyer reaches the driver’s side, nodding in greeting before glancing between us.

“Good morning,” he says smoothly, adjusting his tie. “I’ll keep this brief.”

I swallow hard, my pulse pounding again—but this time for an entirely different reason.

I need to hear what he has to say.

“Clay Monroe will be released in the next few days. All charges withdrawn,” he says.

The words slam into me, knocking the air from my lungs.

Clay is coming home.

I let out a shaky breath, pressing my fingers against my lips.

Mason’s voice cuts through the lingering haze in my mind, sharp and deliberate, pulling me back to the present.

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