She glances at me.
Something warm flickers in her eyes.
“Good,” she says quietly.
A nurse gestures toward a nearby room.
I move with Scout, not leading, not pulling—just matching her pace.
At the doorway, she pauses.
Looks at me.
“You meant what you said,” she murmurs.
“About?”
“Not going anywhere.”
“I did.”
Another beat.
Then she says, softer than anything yet—
“Logan… thank you for hearing me.”
Not rescuing.
Not saving.
Hearing.
That hits deeper than anything else tonight.
“I always will,” I tell her.
And this time—
I know it’s true.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes.”
“How were you able to send messages to us?”
“I have a chip inside my shoulder. I put it there in case I was ever kidnapped.”
I nod my head. Not surprised at all, she is, after all, a genius.
21
Scout
The room is too quiet.
Not the kind of quiet I’m used to—the controlled kind, the kind you build on purpose so you can hear everything that matters.
