16. Logan
LOGAN
" I 'll handle it."
The words slip out before I can stop them, heavy with a familiar weight.
I turn away from their faces—from Caleb's hurt, Knox's fury, Ryker's skepticism, Asa's silent assessment, Eli's concern.
My family.
The men who followed me into hell and somehow made it back.
The ones I swore to shield, even from myself.
My boots hit gravel as I push through the door, letting February air slice through my henley.
I don't go back for a jacket. The cold feels right—a fitting penance for the warmth still lingering from Sloane's touch, from the way she looked at me this morning like I might be worth saving.
Stupid.
Reckless.
Selfish.
The words echo with each step as I head for the treeline. Dawn barely touches the mountains, painting everything in shades of bruised purple and steel. My breath clouds in front of me, steady despite the storm in my chest.
I reach the eastern ridge where the land drops away sharply, offering a clear view of the valley below. Pine trees stretch endlessly, stark against the pale winter sky.
The mountains loom silent, watchful. But today something feels different. The air bears weight, a foreboding sense of change.
Crouching down, I study the ground, and my fingers brush against a footprint preserved in half-frozen mud.
Clean edges. No slip. No stagger.
This wasn't recon. This was placement.
Left as a message at my perimeter—not a warning, but a claim.
Whoever G is, he's not just planning anymore. He's staking territory.
The realization settles like lead in my gut as I stand, staring at the trees, feeling the weight of Iron Hollow at my back. This sanctuary I built to keep everyone safe.
Everyone but myself.
I should've sent her away the moment I sensed her secrets.
The woods smell like pine and coming snow, carrying a scent that feels charged. Like the world is holding its breath.
I've been holding mine since Sloane Carter stepped into my life, and now the thought of losing her lights up determination even as it frays at the edges.
That's when my comm unit pings. Not the standard Forge frequency.
Echo-13 codeband.
Only a few men were ever cleared to use it.
Only one would dare activate it now.
With steady hands, I pull the unit from my pocket. The screen illuminates with a single encrypted message:
Crosspoint Ridge. No weapons. Come alone.
No signature needed. No threat required. Just coordinates and an undeniable summons.
I swallow hard, feeling the weight of understanding settle like armor. Old ghosts press close, whispering memories I've tried to bury in iron and concrete. My heart steadies even as dread rises beneath the surface.
He's here.
The walk to Crosspoint takes twenty minutes, each step echoing with purpose and resignation. The ridge stretches bare against gray sky, exposed and deadly in its simplicity.
Perfect ground for an ambush.
Perfect place for ghosts to meet.
A shot cracks through the silence. Snow explodes at my feet.
I don't flinch. Don't dive for cover. Just draw my gun with the fluid precision born of too many firefights.
He emerges from shadow like he never left it.
I knew it.
Thomas Granger.
Still wearing desert camo like the sand never quite washed out. His rifle stays level, practiced and precise.
"Long time no see, Bishop."
His voice slides over me like ice on rock.
No warmth.
No humanity.
Just the predatory gleam I remember from that last night in the sand.
"Doesn't feel like a reunion." I keep my weapon trained center mass, muscle memory taking over where emotion fails.
"I'd say it's business." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. Never has. "You haven't forgotten what I'm capable of, have you?"
"Some things never slip my mind." Like the sound of his rifle cycling. Like watching him walk away while we bled. "What you did—what you allowed—wasn't just a mistake. It was betrayal."
"Betrayal?" He laughs, sharp and hollow. "Such a heavy word. It weighs down your judgment like dead weight. I prefer to think of it as a necessary choice."
He takes a step closer, boots crunching in snow. "You and your precious team thought saving one civilian would make a difference. Now look where we are. It's all so... tragic."
"We were supposed to save lives." The words tear from my throat, rough with old rage. "You chose to follow orders while your brothers burned."
"I think you've miscalculated where loyalty lies." Another step. Smooth. Predatory. "I stayed in the fight while you walked away, clinging to your delusions of heroism. You thought you were noble—a savior. But saviors condition themselves to save, no matter the collateral damage."
My grip tightens on my weapon. "You think that's justification? We were meant to protect people, to serve a purpose that transcended orders?—"
"What?" he cuts in, voice like steel wrapped in silk. "You were led astray. That civilian you tried to save—it had implications you were too busy playing hero to see. If you could comprehend the bigger picture, you'd understand we're all just pieces on a board."
The disconnect hits me like physical pain. The complete lack of empathy. The realization that he sees us as pawns in a game he's been playing long before this moment.
"You think you're here to teach me a lesson?" I challenge through clenched teeth. "I won't let you manipulate me into your game. If you're here because of Sloane?—"
"I'm not here because of her." His expression flattens to nothing. "But her presence complicates matters. If you truly believe you can shield her from the consequences of your past, you're naive." A pause heavy with threat. "Do you really think you can keep her safe?"
Ice slides down my spine.
Not for me.
For her.
For my family.
For everyone I've tried to protect by building walls around my sins.
"What do you want, Granger?"
"Come with me to Crosspoint." His voice stays smooth even as menace bleeds through. "You need to see for yourself what's at stake. This isn't just about you anymore. I don't want collateral damage, but you must realize that knowledge is a dangerous weapon—for you and everyone around you."
Every instinct screams to refuse. To put him down before he can threaten anything else I care about. But this isn't over. This is barely beginning.
"I'm not your pawn," I say, keeping my voice steady. "You think you can manipulate me because you know my past?"
His smile widens fractionally. "You're playing a dangerous game if you believe you can keep your hands clean. You've left a trail of bodies behind you, and yet you still cling to this fantasy of protection."
For a heartbeat, I'm back there—staring at a brother across desert sand, watching loyalty crumble like dry earth. Watching everything we built together turn to ash.
"It ends with one of us in the ground." The words taste like copper and regret.
"It ends when you remember who you are."
"I did." My jaw clenches around truth that tastes like gunpowder. "And it scared the hell out of me."
I turn away, starting the long walk back through the trees. Snow crunches under my boots as shadows swallow me step by step. But his voice follows, soft and deadly in the quiet.
"You always said protecting people was the point."
I pause but don't turn.
"Then protect her, Bishop."
A beat of silence stretches like wire.
"Because the next time I pull the trigger?—"
His words drift through darkness like a promise.
"It won't be just her in the crosshairs."