The moment sleep began to drag him under—
“Princess, go home.”
Logan’s eyes snapped open. Dean had dropped into the chair beside him with a heaviness that the hospital corridors witnessed too often.
Logan rubbed his face, already bracing. “Later,” he muttered. “How’s Alon?”
Dean stretched, arms behind his head, legs kicked out long in front of him. “Recovering,” he said with a yawn. “Still cranky about missing training. Mostly just pissed that he’s falling behind.”
He flipped his phone lazily between his fingers, a mischievous glint catching in his eye as he glanced toward Alon’s room.
Logan narrowed his gaze. “What did you do?”
Dean’s smirk grew like it had been waiting all night. “Well,” he drawled, dragging the word out, “Adrian and I were in the same unit as Alon’s in now. I might’ve… pulled a few strings.”
Logan blinked. “What kind of strings?”
Dean shrugged, far too pleased with himself. “Alon’s going to be here a while. They need to monitor him anyway, make sure the transplant worked, see if anything shifts. You know that already. You and Dr. Tierney have had those talks. More routes, more options, more waiting.”
Logan nodded, slowly.
Dean leaned in, eyes bright. “So I made a few calls. Said a few things. When Alon’s cleared to return, he’ll slot back in with his team like he never left. No penalty. No falling behind. It’s already sorted.”
“You can do that?” Logan asked, incredulous.
Dean just grinned and leaned back again. “I did.”
Logan exhaled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “That’s… good.”
“I know.” Dean stretched like a cat, arms overhead, spine popping, and let the quiet settle.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was just there, like breath or time or gravity.
Then Dean turned again, quieter now. “Come on, Logan.”
Logan looked over, jaw already tightening.
“Call a cab,” Dean said. “Go home. Sleep for a few hours.”
“I’m fine,” Logan insisted.
“You’re not,” Dean replied, voice soft but steady. “You look like shit. I’ll stay here tonight. I know you don’t want to leave him. But you need to rest.”
Logan didn’t move.
Dean gave him a look, not cold, not hard, just human. “He’s going to need you tomorrow.”
Logan inhaled sharply, he tipped his head back until the ceiling tiles blurred, feeling the air thin against his ribs as though Dean had compressed the entire future into that single sentence. He knew Dean was right. Of course he was. Tomorrow… Adrian would need him tomorrow.
But still—How did he walk away?
How did he leave Adrian alone, even for a few hours, when the line between life and loss felt so impossibly thin? When tomorrow could be…
Hecouldn’t finish that thought; he could not even think that thought.
For a long moment, Logan didn’t move. His fingers twitched faintly in his lap before he reached into the pocket of his jacket. The motion was slow, almost reverent—as if the thing he was about to pull out was too fragile to handle casually.
Then, with a breath that felt like it had taken weeks to gather, he drew out a small black jewelry box and held it out.
