15. Sloane
SLOANE
I don't remember falling asleep.
The first thing I register is warmth—Logan's breath against my neck, the solid weight of his arm draped over my waist, anchoring me to this moment. To him.
For the first time in what feels like centuries, I feel... safe.
Safe.
The word sits unfamiliar in my mind, like trying on clothes that don't quite fit.
When was the last time I truly felt that?
Before Max's death?
Before my father disappeared?
Maybe never.
Dawn's pale light spills through the cabin windows, painting Logan's bedroom in shades of blue and gray. Reality seeps in with the morning, as insistent as the sunlight.
What we shared last night—the heat, the connection, the way he looked at me like I mattered—changes everything.
He's not just the man who pulled me from death's grip anymore.
Not just a protector with steel in his spine and ghosts in his eyes.
He's... more .
And that terrifies me more than any sniper's scope.
I shift slightly, careful not to wake him, and study his face in sleep. The hard lines soften. The constant vigilance eases. He looks younger like this, almost peaceful. My heart clenches painfully in my chest.
This is dangerous .
Not the physical danger of bullets and shadows, but the emotional precipice we're teetering on. I know too well how caring about someone can become a weapon—just ask Max. Just ask my father.
Logan stirs beside me, and I feel our careful bubble of intimacy begin to crack. I sit up slowly, pulling away from his warmth before it can burn me.
When I glance back, his eyes are open, something complicated flickering in their depths—hesitation, maybe. Or regret.
"Morning," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
I manage a nod, forcing a smile that feels more like armor than greeting. We dress in silence, both pretending this is normal, natural, fine.
Like we haven't crossed a line that can't be uncrossed. Like we aren't two people who've waded into deeper waters than either of us meant to.
The morning air hits sharp and clean when we step outside. I scan the tree line automatically—old habits die hard, and mine are particularly stubborn.
Something feels... wrong. The birds aren't singing. The wind holds its breath.
Then I see it.
The red laser dot appears on Logan's chest like a premonition.
"Logan!" I don't think—I move.
My hands find his arm, yanking him sideways as the crack of a rifle splits the air. The bullet whizzes past close enough that I feel its heat.
"Run!"
We sprint toward The Forge, hearts pounding in synch, feet barely touching ground. I focus on the path ahead, but fear clings to my bones like rust. Not for me—for him. For what I've brought to his door.
The Forge looms ahead, solid and stark against the morning sky. We burst through the doors to find the team already assembled—Caleb, Asa, Elias, Knox, and Ryker.
Their expressions shift from concern to suspicion as they take us in, and I realize how we must look: breathless, rumpled, running from shadows.
"What happened?" Caleb steps forward, dimples gone, all business. "Are you okay, Sloane?"
"I'm fine." The tremor in my voice betrays me. "It was aimed at Logan."
"A sniper?" Elias moves closer, genuine worry shadowing his features. "How did you know?"
"She saw the red dot," Logan explains. His gaze finds mine, steady and sure, like he's trying to pass strength through eye contact alone. "We need to figure out what's going on."
Asa pushes his wire-rimmed glasses up, tension visible in the set of his shoulders. "We've been experiencing unusual technical difficulties. Our systems are being jammed. This isn't coincidence. Someone wants us blind."
Knox's dark eyes fix on me, cold as Montana winter. "Who is she really? What's her deal? Why is she in Iron Hollow?"
"Who I am doesn't matter." Frustration bubbles under my skin, hot and sharp. "I just need a place to stay. I'm not here to cause trouble!"
"Oh, really? That's convenient." Ryker's massive frame seems to fill the room as he steps forward. "If you're hiding something, that puts everyone at risk!"
"Enough!" Logan moves in front of me, protective but not possessive. "Sloane has been through enough. It's not her fault bullets are flying at us!"
"That's easy for you to say." Knox's voice could strip paint. "But the reality is, we don't know her game. She could be leading us straight into a trap."
"Let's keep this civil." Elias raises his hands. "We all care about each other here. Sloane, if you're truly innocent, now's the time to show us. What brings you to Iron Hollow?"
I feel their stares like physical weight—six pairs of eyes demanding answers I'm not ready to give. "I'm just trying to survive!" The words tear from my throat. "I didn't want to put any of you in danger!"
"Then let's get some clarity." Asa's voice carries the quiet authority of someone who deals in absolutes. "Tell us your true identity. Who are you?"
"I didn't mean to disrupt your lives!" The pressure builds in my chest, crushing. "I'm not the villain here!"
Logan's body tenses beside me, and I can feel his frustration warring with his instinct to shield me. "She's not a liability," he insists, anger threading through his words. "Sloane has endured enough."
Caleb steps forward, trying to reason. "If Sloane is mixed up in something dangerous, we need to get that out in the open. We can't afford to keep secrets."
"Or act like we're not in danger," Knox adds, skepticism heavy in the air.
"Fine! If my presence puts you all at risk, then I accept that blame." The words taste bitter. "But I came seeking sanctuary, not conflict!"
Silence falls like a shroud. Logan glances at me, his protection a tangible thing. "We'll figure this out together." He turns to face his team. "There's someone hunting her. I don't have all the details, but we need to trust each other if we want to stay alive."
"Someone's hunting her?" Disbelief colors Caleb's voice. "And you didn't think to tell us that? We're supposed to be brothers! You're hiding this—why?"
"I'm not hiding anything!" Logan's voice cracks like a whip. "I didn't know how deep this ran! I'm trying to protect you all!"
"The hell you are." Ryker's words cut deep. "We have each other's backs. You can't pull the 'lone wolf' act anymore, Logan. We need to work together. How can you expect us to trust you if you're not being honest?"
Logan's expression hardens to granite. "You want honesty? Fine. We need a plan right now. I'm taking this seriously. I'll handle the situation with Sloane, and I'll ensure we're prepared for whatever comes next."
He turns away, heading for the door. "I'll handle it."
Stunned silence follows him. Caleb's frustration radiates like heat. "How can he think he can sort this out alone?"
I stand there, heart sinking, as the others begin to murmur amongst themselves.
The outsider.
The catalyst.
The woman who brought danger to their door.
But beneath the guilt, determination burns steady and bright. My father's death demands answers. Max's blood cries out for justice. And even if it means remaining on the fringes of this world forged from loyalty and survival, I will find the truth.
I have to.
I'm sorry, Dad. But sometimes the truth hurts more than silence.
I follow Logan out into the morning light, leaving the weight of accusation behind. He stands at the edge of the training yard, shoulders rigid, hands clenched at his sides.
"You don't have to shoulder this alone," I say quietly.
He doesn't turn. "Yes, I do."
"Why?"
"Because last time I let someone in—" He breaks off, jaw tight. "Last time I trusted my gut over orders, people died."
I step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. "And what about now? What does your gut tell you about me?"
He finally turns, and the raw honesty in his eyes nearly stops my heart. "That you're worth the risk."