“I know,” I reply. “It’ll stop.”
He nods, accepting that without argument.
That matters.
The jacket smells like him—clean, worn, something grounded. Not cologne. Not antiseptic. Just him. I pull it tighter without thinking.
His gaze drops to the movement.
Then back to my face.
“Pain?” he asks.
“No,” I say after a moment. “Residual response. My body’s catching up.”
He absorbs that, filing it away.
“You didn’t dissociate,” he says.
I glance at him, surprised.
“No.”
“That’s rare.”
“I stayed present,” I reply. “Because I knew you’d come. I hoped Raine wasn’t just bragging about her brother. I prayed you were as smart as she thought you were. And you were.”
That earns a reaction.
Not big. Not visible to anyone else.
But his jaw tightens slightly, and his eyes soften in a way that makes my chest ache.
“I followed your timing,” he says. “Not my instincts.”
I smile faintly. “That was the instinct.”
The helicopter banks, night lights scattering across the window like broken stars.
Neither of us speaks for a few seconds.
Then—
“I forgot,” Logan says, almost to himself.
“What?” I ask.
“How quiet you are,” he replies. “Not silent. Just… comfortable silent.”
I tilt my head. “You didn’t forget. You just didn’t need it before.”
He meets my eyes again.
“And now?”
“Now,” I say gently, “you do.”
The truth of that hangs between us—not heavy, not demanding.
