35. Logan
LOGAN
I wake to coldness.
My arm reaches across the sheets, searching for warmth that should be there. Finding nothing but empty space.
For a moment, I lie perfectly still, waiting for my senses to align. For the sound of running water from the bathroom. For the scent of coffee from the kitchen. For any sign that tells me she's still here.
But the cabin holds only silence.
I bolt upright, heart suddenly hammering against my ribs. My hand presses against the sheets where Sloane should be. The fabric is cool beneath my palm. She's been gone for hours.
No.
Throwing back the covers, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. My boots are exactly where I left them. Her clothes are gone from the floor. Even the air feels different—emptier somehow, like the oxygen's been sucked out of the room.
"Sloane?" My voice sounds foreign in the stillness.
No answer.
I grab my pants from the floor, yanking them on as I move. The wooden floorboards creak beneath my feet as I stride into the hallway, checking each room with military precision.
Bathroom first. The door stands open, revealing nothing but pristine counters and a perfectly folded towel. No steam on the mirror. No lingering scent of her shampoo.
Living room next. The fire has died to ash, gray and cold in the hearth. Her jacket isn't draped over the couch where she left it last night. The blanket lies undisturbed, still neatly folded on the arm of the chair.
Kitchen last. No coffee brewing. No dirty mug in the sink. Not even a note propped against the ancient coffee maker we'd joked about replacing.
Just... nothing.
My chest constricts as reality sets in. She's gone. Really gone.
Think, Logan. What did you miss?
I scan the cabin again, this time with tactical eyes. No sign of struggle. No displaced furniture. No scuffmarks on the floor. If Granger had come for her, there would be evidence. She would have fought. Left me a signal. Something.
But there's only the clean, methodical absence of her presence.
Which means...
She chose to leave.
The thought hits like a physical blow. I brace one hand against the kitchen counter, remembering how she felt in my arms last night. The way she kissed me like she was trying to memorize every moment. The intensity in her eyes when I made her promise to keep herself safe.
Fuck.
She planned this.
Even as she lay beside me, even as she let me hold her, she knew she was leaving.
And I missed it.
I grab my shirt from the back of a chair, shrugging it on with sharp, angry movements. My jacket follows, the familiar weight settling across my shoulders like armor. Keys next—snatched from the hook by the door.
The morning air bites as I step outside, winter still clinging to the shadows between the trees. My breath fogs in front of me as I scan the ground, looking for tracks, tire marks, anything that might tell me which way she went.
But the frost has erased whatever trail she might have left.
I slide behind the wheel of my truck, the engine roaring to life with a turn of the key.
Gravel sprays as I reverse, tires finding purchase on the frozen ground. The road stretches ahead, a gray ribbon cutting through the pines.
My hands clench the steering wheel as I drive, eyes constantly moving. Scanning the tree line. Checking mirrors. Looking for any flash of movement, any sign of her.
But Iron Hollow wakes slowly, quietly, like it doesn't know something vital is missing.
The Forge looms ahead, solid and imposing against the pale morning sky. I park haphazardly, leaving the driver's door open as I stride toward the entrance. My boots echo against steel and concrete as I move through the facility, checking every corner, every room.
Caleb looks up from the training mat, surprise flickering across his face. "You're early?—"
"Have you seen Sloane?"
He straightens, concern replacing the easy smile. "No. Why?"
"She's gone."
The words taste like ash in my mouth. Caleb's expression shifts, understanding dawning in his eyes. He grabs his comm unit, already moving.
"Knox," he barks into the radio. "We've got a situation."
The response is immediate. "Location?"
"Main hall. Sloane's missing."
Within minutes, the team assembles. Knox arrives first, rifle slung across his back, face set in grim lines.
Eli follows, medical kit in hand like he's already preparing for the worst. Ryker materializes from the shadows, silent but alert.
Asa's voice crackles through the comms, confirming he's monitoring all channels.
I explain quickly, clinically, keeping emotion locked behind steel walls. "She left sometime before dawn. No signs of forced entry or struggle. Clean exit."
"Voluntary?" Knox asks, but his tone says he already knows.
I nod once, sharp.
Caleb runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Why would she just leave? After everything?—"
"Because she thinks she's protecting us," Eli says quietly. "After what happened with Lucia..."
The words hang in the air.
"Split up," I order, falling back on training when emotion threatens to crack through. "Canvas the town. Check every street, every building. She can't have gone far without transportation."
They move without question, years of working together making words unnecessary. Knox and Ryker take the north side. Caleb and Eli head south. Asa's voice confirms he's reviewing security footage, checking traffic cams, monitoring communications.
I head for my truck again, the engine still warm. The town spreads before me as I drive—familiar streets suddenly foreign, every shadow potentially hiding what I'm desperate to find.
Dana spots me from the doorway of her bookshop, recognition flashing across her face. She waves me down, crossing the street with quick steps.
"Logan? What's wrong?"
"Sloane," I say, the name catching in my throat. "Have you seen her?"
Dana's eyes sharpen. "No. When?"
"She's gone. Left sometime last night."
Understanding dawns in her expression. She turns, already calling to someone inside the shop. Leo emerges, toolkit in hand, face serious as Dana explains.
"I'll check the tech channels," he says, already pulling out a handheld scanner. "If she's using any electronics within range..."
Sheriff Hale joins next, drawn by the growing tension in the air. His hand rests on his sidearm as he approaches, years of law enforcement experience evident in his stance.
"Bishop. What's the situation?"
I explain again, each repetition feeling like sandpaper in my throat. Hale nods, already reaching for his radio.
"I'll put out an alert. Quiet," he adds, seeing my expression. "Just our people."
The sun climbs higher as we search, marking hours that feel like years. Every dead end, every empty building, every negative response on the comms drives the knife deeper.
She's really gone.
The realization settles like lead in my gut as shadows lengthen across the streets. The team reconvenes, exhaustion evident in their movements. Even Knox looks worn, the constant vigilance taking its toll.
"Logan," Caleb says softly, approaching where I stand at the edge of the square. "You need to rest."
I shake my head. "She's out there."
"And killing yourself won't help find her." His hand lands on my shoulder, solid and grounding. "We'll keep looking. But you need to think clearly."
But I can't stop. Can't slow down.
Because if I do, I'll have to face what this really means.
She chose to leave.
After everything we shared, everything we built, she still chose to walk away. To face whatever's coming alone.
My legs give out before I realize I'm falling. I catch myself against the alley wall, rough brick scraping my palm. The pain barely registers through the hollow ache in my chest.
Why?
The question echoes, unanswered and raw.
Why didn't you trust us? Trust me?
But I know why.
Because she's like me. Because she'd rather carry the weight alone than watch someone else fall beneath it.
Because sometimes love means walking away before the bullet finds its mark.
The realization doesn't help. Doesn't ease the cold spreading through my veins or the sick certainty that I've lost something irreplaceable.
I press my forehead against the brick, letting the rough surface ground me in reality. The comm unit at my hip remains silent, no updates, no leads, no hope.
She's gone.
And this time, I don't know if I can bring her back.
Night falls over Iron Hollow, stars emerging in a sky that seems too vast, too empty. The town settles into uneasy quiet, windows glowing warm and yellow in the darkness.
But I remain in the shadows, unable to move, unable to accept that this is where the trail ends.
Come back, I think, the words a prayer I don't dare speak aloud. Come back to me.
But only silence answers, and the hollow space beside me grows colder with each passing moment.
The sound of approaching footsteps barely registers. A shadow falls across me—Knox, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
"We'll find her," he says, voice low and certain.
I don't respond. Can't find words past the tightness in my throat.
He crouches beside me, shoulder brushing mine in silent support. "She's smart. Trained. She knows how to stay alive."
"That's what scares me," I whisper.
Because Sloane isn't running blind. She has a plan. A purpose.
And whatever it is, she didn't trust me enough to share it.
Knox's hand grips my shoulder, squeezing once. "Then we get smarter. Work the angles. Trace her thought patterns."
Logic tries to surface through the emotional storm. He's right. Standing here won't bring her back. Won't protect her from whatever she's walking into.
I push to my feet, legs unsteady but holding. Knox rises with me, a solid presence at my back.
"Start with the patterns," he continues. "Her research. Her contacts. Everything that led her here."
I nod, forcing my mind to shift from emotional to tactical. "Dana's files. The connection to her father."
"And Echo-13." Knox's voice hardens. "Whatever Granger's planning, it all leads back there."
The name sends ice through my veins, but I embrace it. Use it.
Because if anyone knows how to find someone who doesn't want to be found, it's the man who's been hunting us all along.
I straighten, squaring my shoulders against the weight of what comes next. "Get the team. We need to move."
Knox nods once, already reaching for his comm. But his hand pauses, eyes finding mine in the darkness.
"Logan," he says quietly. "Whatever happens... we've got your six."
The words hit harder than I expect, cracking something in my chest that I've kept locked since she left.
Because maybe that's what Sloane couldn't see. That she wasn't just walking away from me.
She was walking away from all of us.
And we're not letting her face this alone.