"Including you?" My voice wavers. "The Forge team?"
"We're already marked," he says quietly. "Have been since that day in the desert. He's just been waiting for the right moment to finish what he started."
The weight of it settles over me like a shroud.
All these years, Logan and his team have been living with this sword hanging over their throat. Building The Forge not just as a sanctuary, but as a fortress against the very system they once served.
And now I've brought the threat right to their door.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I never meant?—"
Logan closes the distance between us in two strides. His hands come up to frame my face, calloused palms warm against my skin.
"Don't," he says roughly. "Don't apologize for seeking the truth."
I reach up, wrap my fingers around his wrists. Feel his pulse thunder beneath my touch.
"But your team?—"
"Chose this life," he cuts in. "Same as I did. We protect what matters, Sloane. No matter the cost."
The intensity in his eyes steals my breath. Because I see it now—the way he looks at me like I'm something worth protecting. Something worth fighting for.
"Logan..."
He kisses me before I can finish. Not gentle this time. Not careful.
It's fierce, all-consuming, like a firestorm sweeping through a dry forest.
His hands move from my face to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss.
The world around us fades, replaced by the raw, primal connection between us. I can taste the desperation in his kiss, the hunger that's been boiling.
It's a kiss that screams of need and longing, of a man who's been holding back for far too long.
I respond instinctively, my hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer. The heat between us is overwhelming, a wildfire that threatens to consume us both.
His lips move against mine, demanding and possessive, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation.
In that moment, I'm not the journalist on the run, and he's not the ex-soldier with a past full of shadows.
We're just two people caught in a whirlwind of emotions, clinging to each other like lifelines in a storm.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, eyes closed like he's gathering strength.
"I can't lose anyone else," he whispers. "Not to him. Not again."
The confession cracks something open in my chest. I curl my fingers in his shirt, anchoring us both.
"You won't," I promise. "We're stronger together."
His laugh is soft, almost broken. "You make me want to believe that."
"Then believe it." I brush my thumb across his jaw, feel the way he leans into the touch. "You're not alone anymore. Neither of us are."
He opens his eyes, and the vulnerability there steals my breath. Because Logan Bishop—former SEAL, protector, man of steel and silence—is looking at me like I might be his salvation.
"Stay," he murmurs against my lips.
