18. Logan
LOGAN
T he taste of snow and gunpowder lingers on my tongue as I descend from Crosspoint Ridge, each step deliberate against the frozen ground.
Granger's words echo in my head like spent shell casings dropping in slow motion:
"The next time I pull the trigger—it won't be just her in the crosshairs."
The cold bites through my henley, but I barely feel it. My mind races through tactical scenarios, threat assessments, defensive positions—the familiar dance of a soldier planning for war.
But this isn't a battlefield. This is Iron Hollow. My home. The sanctuary I built to keep everyone safe.
Everyone but myself.
A branch snaps under my boot, the sound sharp as a gunshot in the winter silence.
I pause, scanning the treeline with the instincts that kept me alive through three tours and one betrayal. Nothing moves. Even the birds have gone quiet, as if they sense the storm gathering in these mountains.
Granger's presence changes everything. He's not just some ghost from my past—he's a weapon aimed at the heart of everything I've rebuilt.
And now he knows about Sloane.
Sloane.
Her name hits like a physical blow. The memory of her mouth on mine, her fingers gripping my shirt, the way she looked at me like I was worth saving... it twists in my chest like shrapnel.
I quicken my pace, following the familiar path back toward The Forge. The compound emerges through the trees—stone and steel rising against the Montana sky like a fortress.
My fortress. Built from the ashes of Echo-13, forged in the fire of betrayal and redemption.
But fortresses can fall.
I've seen it happen before.
The main entrance sensors ping as I approach, a soft chirp that means Asa's systems are still online. Still watching.
The smell of pine and sweat hits me as I step inside—the scent of hard work and harder men trying to piece themselves back together.
My team looks up from their huddle around the tactical table.
Caleb's usual grin is nowhere to be found.
Knox's shoulders are rigid with tension.
Ryker looks ready to put someone through a wall.
Eli's calm facade cracks slightly when he sees me.
And Asa... Asa just watches, those keen eyes missing nothing.
"Logan," Knox says, stepping forward. His voice carries the weight of unspoken concerns. "We just wrapped up."
"I know." The words feel like gravel in my throat. "What did I miss?"
Caleb crosses his arms, a gesture that makes him look more like the soldier he was than the joker he pretends to be. "We've been discussing how to handle the security breach. Asa's been running digital sweeps, but we need your input."
I nod, bracing for the flood. They don't disappoint.
"The motion sensors on the east ridge picked up multiple signatures," Knox reports, spreading a map across the table. "Too precise to be wildlife. Too methodical to be lost hikers."
"And our comms are still being jammed," Asa adds from his tech station. "Someone's using military-grade equipment to create dead zones in our coverage. This isn't amateur hour."
Ryker's massive frame shifts, radiating contained violence. "We should move to active defense protocols. Full perimeter sweeps, armed response teams?—"
"And risk escalating the situation?" Eli cuts in, ever the voice of reason. "We can't protect what we have here without total transparency, Logan," Eli says, earnestness blazing in his eyes. "We need you in this with us. No more secrets."
Their expectations crush me like a vise. These men—my brothers in all but blood—deserve the truth. But the truth is what got people killed in Echo-13. The truth is what put targets on our backs and forced us into shadows.
"I get it," I manage, swallowing hard. "But you need to understand—I can't put you all at risk."
"Not talking about it is what puts us at risk," Asa counters, his tone cool and steady. "Whatever you're keeping from us could have serious implications?—"
The words tear from my throat before I can stop them: "Thomas Granger is the one targeting Sloane."
The silence that follows is deafening. Five pairs of eyes lock onto me with laser focus, their expressions cycling through shock, disbelief, and something darker.
"What?" Caleb's voice rises, disbelief mingling with anger. "That's insane! How do you know?"
"I just left Crosspoint." My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape. "He was waiting for me there. When I refused to comply with him, he made it clear he knows about her—uses her as leverage."
The revelation hits them like a physical blow. Caleb starts pacing, his usual smooth movements sharp with agitation. Knox's hand drops to his sidearm—an unconscious tell that speaks volumes. Ryker's jaw clenches so hard I can almost hear his teeth grind.
"Thomas Granger?" Eli asks softly, the name carrying weight. "The one who..."
"Shot us?" I finish for him. "Yeah. That Granger."
The memory flashes hot and bright: sand in my mouth, blood on my hands, the sound of shots echoing across the desert. The look in Granger's eyes as he pulled the trigger—not hatred, not anger. Just... duty.
"He should be dead," Knox growls. "Or in prison."
"He's neither." My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. "He's got resources. Military backing. And he's not here for revenge—he's here to clean up loose ends."
"Loose ends?" Asa's fingers fly across his keyboard, pulling up security feeds. "You mean Sloane?"
"She found something." I move to the tactical table, spreading my hands on the cool surface. "Something connected to Echo-13. Something worth killing for."
The implications settle over us like a heavy snowfall. Each man processes it differently—I can see the gears turning, the strategies forming. We've been running drills for years, preparing for threats both real and imagined.
But this? This is personal.
"Listen," I say, raising a hand to quiet their mounting questions. "We can come up with a plan, but I need to find Sloane first. I can't let Granger use her."
Knox's expression shifts, concern washing over his features. "Wait—where is she? We haven't seen her since before the meeting."
A sharp jolt of panic shoots through my chest. "What do you mean?"
Caleb exchanges a worried glance with Eli. "She excused herself just before we started."
"Damn it." The curse slips out as adrenaline floods my system. Every tactical instinct screams danger .
Because I know Sloane. I know how her mind works. If she's alone with her thoughts, with her drive to uncover truth no matter the cost...
She'll dig.
And what she finds might get her killed.
I don't wait for their responses. Don't stop to explain. I just move—fast and focused, years of training taking over as I sprint through The Forge's halls and storming into every door.
I burst through the self-defense room door, boots squeaking against polished wood. Rosa and Lucia glance up from their task, expandable batons glinting under the fluorescent lights as they clean them.
"Logan?" Rosa's hands still on the metal. Her eyes track my movements, reading the tension in my frame. "You look like hell just broke loose."
"Sloane." The name comes out sharp, clipped. "Anyone seen her?"
Lucia drops her cleaning cloth. "Is she in trouble?"
"Maybe." Probably . "Need to find her. Now."
Rosa's already on her feet, mother's instinct kicking in. "We'll help search." She touches Lucia's shoulder. "East wing?"
"On it." Lucia bolts ahead, ponytail swinging, moving with that fierce energy that reminds me too much of her mother.
"I'll take south."
I sprint through the facility, slamming each door open, scanning every shadow. My heart pounds against my ribs as I check another empty room, then another.
But as I run, Granger's words chase me like wolves in the dark:
"The next time I pull the trigger ? —"
The doors swallow me whole as I race against time and shadows.
"It won't be just her in the crosshairs."