Chapter Logan
Logan
She’s ahead of it.
I can feel it in the way she moves—slower, more deliberate, her attention not just scanning but processing.
She’s not reacting.
She’s hunting.
Good.
Because I don’t like this.
Not the terrain.
Not the silence.
Not the way it feels like we stepped into something that was already waiting for us.
I shift slightly, adjusting my position just enough to cover her blind side without crowding her.
Not controlling.
Supporting.
Always supporting.
“You don’t like it,” I say.
“No,” she replies. “I don’t.”
Good.
Neither do I.
We keep moving.
Step by step.
Measured.
Quiet.
Every instinct I have is telling me the same thing:
We’re being watched.
Not loosely.
Not passively.
Tracked.
“Eyes on us,” I murmur.
Scout doesn’t look at me.
“I know.”
Of course she does.
A beat.
“Close?” I ask.
“Yes.”
That tightens something in my chest.
Because close means—
Engagement range.