Chapter 40 Scout
Scout
Idon’t panic.
That’s the first thing.
Not because I don’t feel it.
Because I’ve spent my entire life learning how not to.
Tessa.
The name echoes once—sharp, precise—and then everything inside me locks into place.
Control.
Containment.
Function.
I move through the room, gathering what I need, checking what matters, my hands steady even when something deeper tries to rise.
I don’t let it.
Not yet.
Not here.
“Scout.”
Logan’s voice is close.
Grounding.
I don’t stop moving.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
“Scout.”
Different this time.
Not correcting.
Calling me back.
I pause.
Just long enough.
Then I look at him.
“I need to stay focused,” I say.
“You are.”
A beat.
“You don’t have to shut it off to do that.”
I exhale slowly.
Because he’s right.
Again.
“I’m not shutting it off,” I reply.
“I’m containing it.”
His gaze holds mine.
“I know the difference.”
Of course he does.
That’s what makes this harder.
I turn slightly, bracing my hands on the edge of the table for just a second.
Just one.
That’s all I give myself.
“Tessa doesn’t handle pressure well,” I say quietly.
Logan doesn’t interrupt.
Doesn’t move.
Just listens.
“She never has,” I continue. “She feels everything. Too much. Too fast.”
A pause.
“My mother hated that.”
The words come out flat.
Controlled.
But they carry weight.
History.
“She used to say Tessa was too loud,” I add.
“I stood between them so many times.”
My throat tightens slightly.
Not enough to stop me.
Just enough to remind me it’s there.
“She’d look at her like… like she was a problem that needed to be corrected.”
I swallow once.
Controlled.
“She never looked at me like that.”
Logan’s voice is quiet.
“Why?”
“Because I learned early.”
A beat.
“How to be quiet. How to not take up space. How to not give her anything to react to.”
The room feels smaller for a second.
Not physically.
Memory.
“She tried to teach Tessa the same way,” I say.
My hands tighten slightly on the edge of the table.
“But Tessa couldn’t do it.”
A faint breath leaves me.
“She wasn’t built for that.”
And thank God she wasn’t.
“She would cry,” I continue. “Or laugh too loud. Or ask too many questions.”
A pause.
“And every time—my mother would look at her like she was… wrong.”
The word sits there.
Heavy.
Real.
“So I stepped in.”
Logan’s eyes sharpen slightly.
“How?”
“I redirected,” I say. “Changed the focus. Took the attention.”
A small, humorless exhale.
“I learned how to be just enough of a problem that she’d stop looking at Tessa.”
That’s the truth.
The real one.
“I thought I was protecting her,” I add.
“You were,” Logan says.
I shake my head slightly.
“I was controlling the damage.”
A beat.
“But it worked.”
Silence.
Soft.
Understanding.
“I made sure she didn’t feel it the way I did,” I say.
My voice is quieter now.
Not weaker.
Just… closer to something real.
“I kept her out of it as much as I could.”
And now—
I straighten slowly.
The weight settles differently.
Not pulling me under.
Anchoring me.
“He thinks she’s my weakness,” I say.
Logan doesn’t respond right away.
He doesn’t need to.
Because he knows what I’m going to say next.
“He’s wrong.”
My gaze lifts to his.
Clear.
Focused.
Certain.
“She’s the reason I learned control,” I continue.
“She’s the reason I didn’t break.”
A beat.
“And she’s the reason I won’t now.”
That lands.
Solid.
Unshakable.
Logan steps closer.
Not in front of me.
Beside me.
Always beside.
“We’ll get her back,” he says.
“Yes.”
“And after that?”
His voice is quieter now.
More dangerous.
I don’t hesitate.
Not even for a second.
“We end it.”
No emotion in the words.
No anger.
No fear.
Just—
Decision.
Because this isn’t about revenge.
It’s about closure.
About stopping something that should have ended a long time ago.
I reach for my gear again, movements precise, controlled, every piece exactly where it needs to be.
No hesitation.
No second-guessing.
Not anymore.
Sentinel wanted me to lose control.
Wanted me to fracture.
Instead—
He just reminded me why I have it.
And this time—
I’m not protecting Tessa from the past.
I’m bringing her home.
And when I do—
He doesn’t get another chance.