Illustration of a rugged, muscular man with grey hair, a beard, and scars, shirtless, against a warm, plain background.

Jace Meadows stood just over six foot three, with a broad, powerful frame that hadn’t softened with age—only thickened. His shoulders were wide, chest solid, and arms still corded with muscle, the kind you didn’t get in a gym but earned through years of combat. Faint scars mapped across his knuckles and forearms, and a subtle limp in his left knee hinted at an old injury he never fully rested. His face was rough-hewn—square jaw, slightly crooked nose from a long-forgotten brawl, and a scar just above his right brow. His skin was sun-worn and olive-toned, with the beginnings of laugh lines that didn’t see much use. Stubble framed his mouth, peppered with streaks of silver, and his dark hair was shorter now, a little messy at the crown, graying at the temples. Everything about him looked lived-in—hard-edged, capable, and built to last. See more