Chapter Six

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—Logan

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—Logan

The hallway seemed like it stretched on forever as we rushed to the lab, Rogue's limp body in my arms.
Every step I took echoed with the weight of my guilt and anxiety. My heart was pounding, louder than the whispers of the students who watched us pass by. I couldn't take my eyes off Rogue's face, pale and still, praying she was okay.

Each breath felt like a struggle, the fear of me killing her gnawed me. I should've been faster, should've been stronger. The guilt was like a constant knife in my gut, reminding me of how I had failed her. Lia was beside me, her face set in a determined mask, but I could see the worry in her eyes.

The lab's doors loomed ahead, a mix of hope and dread. I felt Simon's presence behind us, his concern for Lia adding another layer to the mess of emotions inside me. I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd let everyone down, that my failure had put Rogue in this state.

As we finally reached the lab, the doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the bright, sterile room inside. The medical team rushed to take Rogue from my arms, their hands moving quickly and efficiently.

I stood there, feeling helpless and lost, my eyes fixed on Rogue's face. The guilt was overwhelming, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. I knew she was going to be fine—she had to be—but the fact that I had put her in danger in the first place was killing me inside. I couldn't shake the image of her lifeless body from my mind, the way she had looked so fragile and vulnerable.

Every second felt like an eternity, my thoughts racing with self-recrimination. I should have been faster, should have been stronger. The sense of dread gnawed at me, a constant reminder of my failure. My claws, usually a source of strength and protection, felt like they had betrayed me. I clenched my fists, the metal scraping against my skin, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the torment in my mind.

Suddenly, a soft touch interrupted my spiraling thoughts. I felt fingertips brush against mine, and when I looked down, I realized it was Lia, trying to steady my trembling hands.

Then, amidst the chaos in my mind, I heard her voice. Lalia's voice, clear and calm, echoing in my head. "She's going to be okay, Logan. It wasn't your fault. Nobody thinks that."

Her words were like a lifeline, pulling me back from the brink. She hadn't spoken out loud—she wouldn't, not with Simon around. But somehow, she reached me, her voice a soothing balm to my tormented soul.

I took a deep breath, letting her words sink in. It was like a dam breaking, the flood of guilt starting to recede. I glanced at her, seeing a small, closed smile creep on her face, the silent support she offered. She was fighting her own battles, facing her own problems, yet she still found the strength to help me with mine.

The tension in the room had just started to ease when I heard the familiar sound of the Professor's wheelchair approaching. His presence was always calming, a reminder that someone wiser and more powerful was looking out for us.

Claws and Heartstrings: Logan Howlett | Wolverine ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིWhere stories live. Discover now