"Are you hurt?" he asks, voice rough.
I shake my head, unable to form words past the lump in my throat.
He nods once to the team. They understand immediately, moving to lift Granger's body with solemn efficiency. We descend the tower in silence, each lost in private thoughts.
The snow has started falling again, soft and steady.
It feels wrong somehow—this gentle beauty after so much ugliness. We find a spot beneath an ancient pine, where the ground isn't quite frozen.
They dig without speaking. The only sounds are labored breathing and steel hitting earth.
When it's deep enough, they lower Granger with surprising tenderness. Ryker produces a flask, taking a long pull before passing it around. A soldier's wake.
Knox fashions a crude marker from fallen branches. No name. No dates. Just a simple cross that will disappear with the next storm.
I stand apart, guilt churning in my gut like poison. These men had to kill their brother because of me. Because I brought my crusade to their door. Because I thought the truth was worth any price.
Looking at their faces now, I'm not so sure.
Logan appears beside me, solid and warm despite everything. His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing. I squeeze hard enough to hurt.
He squeezes back.
The snow continues to fall, erasing our tracks. Erasing everything but what we carry inside us.
My breath catches as the reality hits me fully:
It's finally over.
But the cost... God, the cost.
42
LOGAN
The drive back to The Forge is silent.
Snow drifts lazily past our headlights, each flake catching the dim glow before disappearing into darkness. My hands grip the steering wheel too tight, knuckles white beneath dried blood. Every bump in the road jars my bruised ribs.
Beside me, Sloane stares ahead, lost in thought. Her face is pale in the dashboard light, hollowed by exhaustion and shadows. She hasn't spoken since we left Granger's grave.
Granger.
The name sits like lead in my throat. Hours ago, he was breathing. Hours ago, he was our enemy. Now he's just another ghost added to my collection—buried beneath pine needles and fresh snow.
I try not to think about the sound his bones made when we broke them. Try not to remember the way his body went slack, the light fading from eyes I used to trust.
But the memories play on repeat, merciless and sharp.
You did what had to be done.
The voice in my head sounds like Knox—steady, certain. But certainty feels like a luxury I can't afford right now. Not when my hands still smell like gunpowder and old blood.
The Forge appears through the trees like a fortress rising from darkness. Steel and stone against the night sky, windows glowing warm despite everything.Home, some part of me whispers. But even that feels complicated now.
Knox parks near the main entrance, killing the engine. For a moment, neither of us moves. The silence stretches, marked only by our breathing and the soft tick of the cooling engine.
"Logan…" Sloane starts, her voice rough from disuse.
