Logan's POV

Moira's chest rises and falls in steady rhythm, sedatives keeping her under while the surgical repairs heal. Bandages wrap around her torso—white against skin that's too pale.

I brush a strand of pink hair off her forehead, my touch feather-light.

'She needs rest. Needs time to heal before we drag her through another confrontation.'

But Lucas's voice cuts through the silence. "Logan. Office. Now."

I follow ...