𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖒𝖆 𝖎𝖒𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖊 ━ 𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖆𝖓 𝖍𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖊𝖙𝖙

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 5

After dinner, Logan and Verena both helped Mary with the dishes, their hands moving in sync as they washed and dried. Laughter and small talk flowed between them as naturally as the breeze through the open windows. For a fleeting moment, Verena felt a sense of normalcy, almost like they were a family. She caught herself thinking it was nice, a reminder of what could have been. Mary asked her about Italy, and Verena found herself opening up about the rolling vineyards and narrow cobblestone streets of her childhood—carefully omitting the parts about her brother and the bloodstains she left behind.

When the last dish was placed on the rack, Logan and Verena bid the elderly couple goodnight, their gratitude sincere. They walked side by side to the barn, where a makeshift bed of hay, topped with a few blankets, awaited them. The arrangement was large enough for two but just intimate enough to make Verena suspect Mary had intended it that way.

With a quiet sigh, Verena dropped onto the pile, stretching out on her back and staring up at the wooden beams. "Logan," she called softly, waiting for him to join her. Instead, he lingered by the barn door before eventually lying down on the cold dirt floor, his back turned to her.

"Logan, don't sleep on the floor." She tried to keep her voice light, but a note of concern crept in.

"I'm fine, Vee," he muttered, rolling over onto his side. "You take the blankets."

"No, seriously, there's enough space for both of us," she insisted, shifting to make more room. She patted the hay beside her, her eyes almost pleading. "Please. You won't sleep on the floor."

For a moment, Logan hesitated, but then he grumbled under his breath and crawled onto the hay beside her. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't exactly restful either. There was a tension between them—unspoken but palpable. Verena kicked off her boots, and they fell to the ground with a soft thud, echoing in the quiet barn.

After what felt like an eternity of listening to each other's breathing, Verena raised her hand and let her claws extend with a familiar metallic "shink." She turned her hand in the moonlight, watching how the now-shiny metal glinted where bone once was. There was something about it that felt wrong, like a part of her had been taken and replaced with something cold, unforgiving.

"It's different," she said softly, her voice almost swallowed by the quiet. Her claws retracted with a slow hiss as she turned her head to face Logan.

Logan, who had been watching her, nodded. "We're different," he echoed. His words were simple, but they carried the weight of everything they had been through—everything they had become. He reached out, his rough hand patting hers in a gesture that was both comforting and distant. Then, he turned onto his side, his back facing her, leaving her to stare up at the rafters once more.

Verena shifted, her mind racing too fast for sleep to come. She felt the weight of the metal in her bones, the ghosts of wars fought side by side with Logan, and the agonizing guilt she couldn't shake.

"Lo?" she whispered into the darkness.

Logan grumbled, his voice low and rough. "What, bub?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, her voice cracking. She turned on her side to face his back, the words trembling on her lips.

"For what, Vee?" Logan asked, though he already knew.

"For Kayla... for not doing more to protect her."

Logan's body tensed for a moment before he rolled over to meet her gaze. His eyes were shadowed, filled with a deep sadness that mirrored her own. "It wasn't your job to protect her, Vee," he said quietly. "I should've been protecting both of you."