Chapter 37 Logan
Logan
Idon’t ask.
That’s the first thing.
Because if I ask, she’ll give me a controlled answer.
Measured.
Reasonable.
And I’m not interested in reasonable right now.
“Come on,” I say quietly.
Scout looks up from the table, eyes sharp, still in it, still tracking everything like she hasn’t just spent the last hour holding herself together against something she can’t fully see.
“I’m fine,” she says.
Of course she does.
I hold her gaze.
“I know.”
A beat.
“But you’re done for tonight.”
Her chin lifts slightly.
That spark again.
“I don’t—”
“You do.”
Not harsh.
Not forceful.
Just… certain.
The room goes quiet around us.
Boone doesn’t interfere.
Smart man.
Scout studies me for a long second.
Weighing.
Measuring.
Looking for the edge.
The control.
The push.
She won’t find it.
Because this isn’t about control.
It’s about her.
“You don’t get to sideline me,” she says.
“I’m not sidelining you.”
“You’re pulling me out.”
“I’m protecting your baseline.”
That lands.
Different.
Her eyes narrow just slightly.
“Explain.”
I step closer.
Lower my voice.
“You’re still compensating,” I say. “You’re holding, but it’s costing you.”
A beat.
“And if you burn through that now, you won’t have it when it matters.”
Silence.
She knows I’m right.
I can see it.
The way her shoulders shift just a fraction.
The way her breath slows.
Controlled.
Thinking.
“You want me to rest,” she says.
“Yes.”
“In your room.”
Not a question.
Not really.
“Yes.”
A pause.
“That’s not standard.”
“I don’t care.”
That almost gets a reaction.
Almost.
Her eyes search mine.
Looking for the reason.
The angle.
The flaw.
There isn’t one.
“I need to stay close,” I say quietly.
That’s the truth.
Simple.
Uncomplicated.
“And you need to sleep.”
Another pause.
Then—
“Okay.”
That word again.
But softer this time.
Less guarded.
Choice.
I nod once.
That’s enough.
My room is quiet.
Minimal.
Everything in its place.
No clutter.
No distractions.
Control.
But when she steps inside, something shifts.
Like the space recalibrates around her.
Less sharp.
More… real.
She moves slowly, taking it in without saying anything, her awareness still running, still tracking exits, positioning, angles.
Even now.
Even here.
“You can stand down,” I tell her.
Her eyes flick to mine.
“I don’t do that easily.”
“I know.”
A beat.
“But you can here.”
Silence.
She doesn’t argue.
Doesn’t agree either.
Just… adjusts.
A fraction.
That’s enough for me.
I grab a clean shirt from the drawer and hold it out to her.
“It’ll be more comfortable.”
She looks at it.
Then at me.
Then back at the shirt.
“You just carry extra clothes for people?” she asks.
“Only the ones I’m not letting out of my sight.”
That earns me a real reaction.
A small one.
But real.
She takes the shirt.
“Thank you.”
“Bathroom’s there.”
She nods and disappears inside.
The door closes softly behind her.
I exhale.
Not tension.
Not stress.
Just… awareness.
Because this—
This is different.
Not a mission.
Not an objective.
Something else.
Something I’m not used to navigating.
I don’t move far.
I stay where I am.
Listening.
Not for danger.
For her.
The door opens a few minutes later.
And for half a second—
Everything in me stills.
She’s wearing my shirt.
Too big on her.
Falling just past her thighs, sleeves long, the fabric soft against her skin.
Her hair is loose now.
No structure.
No control.
Just her.
Real.
Unfiltered.
And it hits harder than anything we’ve faced tonight.
“You’re staring,” she says quietly.
I don’t look away.
“Yeah.”
A faint flush touches her cheeks.
Subtle.
Gone fast.
But I see it.
Of course I do.
“You’re supposed to rest,” I say.
“I will.”
She moves to the edge of the bed, sitting slowly, her movements more careful now that she’s not holding the line for everyone else.
That’s the part no one sees.
Except me.
I step closer.
Not crowding.
Just… there.
“You did good tonight,” I tell her.
Her eyes lift to mine.
Soft.
But still searching.
“I almost didn’t,” she says.
“But you did.”
“That doesn’t mean it won’t happen again.”
“I know.”
A pause.
“Then why does that not bother you?” she asks.
Because I trust you.
Because I see you.
Because you fight it.
I don’t say any of that.
Not yet.
“Because you don’t quit,” I answer instead.
Simple.
True.
Her gaze holds mine.
Longer this time.
And I can feel it—
That shift.
That connection settling deeper.
Not rushed.
Not forced.
Just… building.
“I don’t know how to do this without… controlling everything,” she admits quietly.
“You don’t have to tonight.”
A beat.
“You just have to rest.”
Silence.
Soft.
Not heavy.
Not demanding.
Different.
She shifts slightly on the bed, pulling the blanket around her, grounding herself.
“Stay,” she says.
There it is.
Not a question.
Not uncertainty.
Just… wanting.
“I’m right here,” I reply.
I don’t move far.
Just enough to sit in the chair beside the bed.
Close.
Within reach.
But not touching.
Not unless she asks.
Her eyes stay on me for a second longer.
Then—
Slowly—
She relaxes.
Not completely.
Not all at once.
But enough.
Her breathing evens out.
Her shoulders loosen.
The tension starts to slip away.
And I stay exactly where I said I would.
Watching.
Guarding.
Not just the room.
Her.
Because Sentinel thinks proximity is pressure.
Thinks it will create strain.
He’s wrong.
Because this—
This isn’t pressure.
This is where she’s strongest.
And if he wants to test that—
He’s going to have to go through me.