“Very funny,” I reply, trying to sidestep the tease.
“You missed out on a great bonding session,” Elias says, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed smirk. “Knox nearly killed us with his alcohol-mixing attempt.”
Knox rolls his eyes, but there’s an undeniable twinkle of humor. “You didn’t have to drink it. It was a tactical decision, Eli.”
“But in all seriousness,” I say, coming into the room, “what’s Logan to you guys, anyway? What’s he like around you guys?”
Caleb raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “What? You like Logan Bishop?!”
I roll my eyes, trying to downplay the prickling heat on my cheeks. “No, I’m serious. What’s he like? It feels like he has this whole... weight.”
Asa leans back, and the playful banter quiets. “He’s the anchor. Always steady, always ready. Logan keeps us grounded, especially when things get heavy.”
“Exactly,” Elias adds, knuckles cracking absent-mindedly. “He’s the one looking out for us, keeping us from losing our heads when shit gets wild.”
Knox nods in agreement. “There’s a calm in him we all rely on. He’s basically responsible for everything.”
“That’s a lot of pressure,” I say, crossing my arms, feeling the edges of their seriousness weigh on me. “Doesn’t he ever share anything? It’s like he’s built this wall no one can breach.”
Ryker, who’s leaned against the wall, then speaks up, his tone gruff. “That’s just Logan. That man doesn’t show weakness.”
Caleb leans back, a more serious expression replacing his usual humor. “He doesn’t want anyone to feel like a burden. He carries it all silently.”
The room is heavy now, each of their eyes reflecting concern as they look at me. “But what if he can’t carry it anymore?” I ask, a knot tightening in my stomach. “He’s so focused on everyone else?—"
But before I can continue, the door swings open, and Logan steps back in. The light from the hallway casts shadows that sharpen his features, and my heart quickens.
“Sloane,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact, pulling me back to the present. “We need to head back to the cabin.”
I meet his gaze, and a rush of unspoken understanding flits between us, a painful reminder of the conversation we’d just had. “Right. Coming,” I reply, trying to mask the turbulence of emotions swirling inside me.
As I follow Logan out, I throw a glance back at the others, their familiar warmth knitting around me again, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m teetering on the edge of their world—full of unspoken truths and the weight of loyalty.
The night air greets us, cool and silent, but within me, a tempest brews—questions left unanswered, secrets half-revealed, pulling me deeper into the enigma that is Logan Bishop.
Ibarely sleep.
Every time I close my eyes, I replay last night’s conversation on a loop.
The emotion hanging in the air between us—heavy, intense.
The way Logan's storm-gray eyes darkened with unspoken words, the weight of everything we left unsaid.
Stop it, Sloane.
I shake my head, frustration coiling in my chest. I can’t afford distractions, not when there’s so much at stake, and I’m still figuring out how to breathe in this new place.
Morning arrives with a quiet that aches.
I pull on yesterday's clothes with mechanical efficiency, trying to shake off the remnants of last night.
Logan's nowhere in sight, and that’s for the best. I need space—distance to remind myself why I came here and what I need to do.
I'm not the kind of woman who gets sidetracked by a pair of storm-gray eyes.
I grab my bag, its familiar weight grounding me. The thumb drive inside—partially corrupted—reminds me of who I am. What I do.
As I step outside into the cold morning air, I head forTran's Tech & Repair, Logan's truck rumbling beneath me as I drive down the quiet streets. I’m hoping for a sense of control; just a quick stop for a burner phone—and maybe a moment of normalcy.
