Before now, there is no way I’d let Logan take a risk like this without me. This is just more evidence of just how much things have changed.
I can’t protect them both, so I’ve made my choice.
“I’ll be right here when you get back.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean back against the door. Despite my feelings, it’s hard not to make a grudging concession. “But I’ll let Maya where you’ve gone if she asks. She’s sleeping now.”
Logan’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. Another surprise. Whatever this meeting is about, it matters enough for him to swallow his pride.
He nods once, acceptance and dismissal in the same motion. His gaze flicks to the door behind me, and for a heartbeat, I see something like regret shadow his features.
“If we’re not back by dawn—“ he starts.
I cut him off. “I know what to do.”
The priority is getting Maya out of the capital, as quickly and covertly as possible.
He turns to leave, then pauses. His gaze flicks to the half-eaten meal tray on the floor. “Thank you for making sure she eats.”
I blink once. “Whatever she needs.”
“I know. I’m counting it.”
“Be careful,” I say, surprising myself with the sincerity behind the words. Despite everything, the thought of Loganwalking into a rebel trap twists something painful in my chest. Old loyalties die hard.
He nods once more, then disappears down the hallway, footsteps fading into silence.
I lean back against Maya’s door, exhaling slowly. The confrontation leaves me unsettled, not because of what was said, but because of what wasn’t. Logan backing down. Logan ceding control. Logan walking alone into a rebel meet without demanding backup.
Something’s changed. Or maybe something’s changing.
CHAPTER 6
Maya
I listen as Logan’s footsteps fade down the hallway. It’s impossible not to notice that they match the pounding beat of my heart.
It had been more tempting than I want to admit to open the door and confront him directly. It’s only been a few days since I agreed to stay with them, but I’ve managed to avoid any direct contact with Logan in that time.
I press my forehead against the door, the cool wood grounding me as my heart hammers against my ribs. I need space to think, to breathe without the weight of Alpha pheromones clouding my judgment. Especially his.
So why am I feeling such a crazed urge to rip open the door and chase after him? I tell myself that it’s just because I want scream in his face and do my best to claw his eyes out.
But that isn’t the only urge I’m feeling.
This safehouse—a generous term for what’s essentially a cabin far enough from civilization that my screams wouldn’t reach anyone—smells of dust and disuse. This is one of only two bedrooms and the decorations are spartan: a queen-sized bedwith faded blue linens, a wooden dresser with a cracked mirror, and curtains that might have been white once. The lock on the door is flimsy, a psychological barrier rather than a physical one. If Logan wanted in, he could break it with minimal effort.
But he won’t. That’s the thing about Logan—he’ll stomp all over my boundaries using my coerced agreement as the flimsiest excuse, but he remains committed to his promises. My agreement to stay here was contingent on him not touching me and he hasn’t.
The only question is how long his commitment to that will last.
I move to the window, watching raindrops race each other down the glass. My reflection stares back, purple hair tangled from our hasty escape, eyes wide with a fear I’m trying desperately to contain. I barely recognize myself anymore. The girl from the Enclave who thought any Alpha might actually offer her freedom feels like another person.
The bed creaks under my weight as I sit, fingers tracing the faded pattern on the quilt. My mind feels lost and scattered, a thousand pieces that I’m trying and failing to put back together. The bond, even as fractured as it is, pulls at me, whispering promises of completion. Of safety in submission.
I hate it.
No, that’s not quite right. I hate that I don’t fully hate it. There’s a part of me—the Omega biology I’ve spent years fighting against—that yearns to give in. To let go of this exhausting resistance and fall into the role I was born for. To be cherished and protected.
A shudder runs through me
