There’s nothing chasing it.
No threat.
No countdown.
No edge sitting just beneath the surface.
Just… this.
Behind me, the door creaks open.
I don’t turn right away.
I don’t need to.
I feel him.
Logan steps up beside me, close enough that our arms brush, his presence steady, grounding in a way that no longer surprises me.
“You’re thinking again,” he says.
I almost smile.
“Just noticing.”
“That’s your version of thinking.”
“Probably.”
A beat of silence settles between us.
Easy.
Unforced.
His hand finds mine—not sudden, not hesitant—just there, like it’s always belonged.
And I let it stay.
“You slept?” he asks.
“Some.”
He nods slightly, like that’s enough.
Like he understands the parts I don’t say.
He always does.
“Tessa’s still out,” he adds. “Finally.”
Good.
She needs it.
More than she’ll admit.
“She’s stronger than she thinks,” I say.
