Scout
The space between us disappears before I consciously decide to close it.
Or maybe it was never there to begin with.
Logan is right in front of me—close enough that I can feel the heat of him, steady and controlled, like everything else about him. But there’s something underneath it now.
Not control.
Restraint.
And it’s thinner than it was before.
“We don’t wait,” I say quietly.
“No,” he agrees.
“We end it.”
His eyes hold mine.
“Yeah.”
The word doesn’t feel tactical.
It feels like a promise.
The air shifts.
Not outside.
Not the perimeter.
Here.
Between us.
I feel it before he moves—that slight change in his breathing, the way his focus narrows, not scanning anymore, not calculating.
Locked on me.
My pulse doesn’t spike.
It steadies.
Because this?
This isn’t uncertainty.
This is something I understand.
Something I’ve been standing on the edge of since the moment he stepped into my space and didn’t try to control it—just matched me.
“You’re thinking too hard again,” he says quietly.
I almost smile.
“Someone has to.”
