Chapter 145

Logan

Dinner is quiet. Too quiet.

I cut into the salmon I grilled twenty minutes ago, trying to focus on the meal, on the sound of waves crashing outside the beach house, on anything but the way Emily stares at her plate like it might come to life and answer the questions spinning in her head. She’s barely touched her food, the once hot salmon from the brown bag now cold.

I offer a half-smile and lean forward, trying to catch her attention. I clear my throat and she still doesn’t budge. A frown flashes across my face and I am just about to give up when my eyes land on the perfectly cooked salmon in front of me.

“You know, I think this might be the first time I’ve ever successfully cooked a meal that didn’t end with the fire alarm going off,” I make the comment with the hope that she will look up at me and end my misery.

Nothing. No smile. Not even a fake one. She blinks and looks up at me like she just realized I’m sitting across the table.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, looking up from her plate, “what did you say?”

“Nothing,” I say, “just talking to myself.”

I pop a piece of fish into my mouth and chew slowly, keeping my eyes on her. Her fingers keep fiddling with her napkin, folding and unfolding it, over and over. The repeated motion makes me worry about her, unsure what it is that is on her mind.

She’s not okay. I’ve known it all day, even before I left to get groceries. I could see it in her eyes when I kissed her goodbye. It was like she wasn’t really here…as if part of her was still back in that cursed room with Wanda.

And now? Now it’s like the silence is a third person at the table.

“Emily,” I set my fork down, heart beating a little harder than I’d like. She doesn’t look up. I huff and my lips press into a thin, disappointed line. “Talk to me.”

“I’m fine,” she absentmindedly comments.

“No,” I say, leaning forward, my voice quiet but firm, “you’re not. You haven’t been since last night and I’m not going to pretend I don’t see it. If something’s wrong, I want to help.”

She finally looks up at me. There’s something in her eyes. A flicker of disdain for how blunt I am with her. She has clearly already made up her mind about something and she’s just been waiting for the right moment to say it out loud. She swallows hard, then sets her napkin down.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” the words fall quiet from her lips yet her voice remains strong and firm. My stomach twits and turns in knots.

“Okay,” I say carefully. “What is it?”

She reaches into her pocket, pulls out a small, folded piece of paper, and places it on the table between us. I stare at it. The lettering is in cursive and the ink is clearly gold. I pick it upmost the paper light between my fingers. My gaze flickers back up to Emily with one eyebrow raised on my face.

“What is that?” I ask, unable to contain my curiosity.

“It’s an address,” she says. “Wanda gave it to me before we left.”

My jaw clenches before I can stop it. My nails dig into the flesh of my palms. I drop the light blue material back onto the table, acting as if it had burned me.

“She what?”

“Logan—”

“No,” I interrupt, already feeling the heat rise in my chest. “That witch gave you a secret address after putting you through whatever the hell that was last night? And she thought that was okay?”

“She didn’t hurt me,” Emily says quickly, already making up an excuse for the older woman, “she gave me a choice. A way to finish what I started.”

“You don’t owe her anything,” I snap. “She locked you in that room and scared the hell out of you.”

Emily stands up from the table, her voice rising now. “She told me the truth, Logan. That’s more than anyone else ever has.”

I rise too, trying to keep calm, but the anger is building — not just at Wanda, but at the idea of Emily walking into danger again, alone.

“You don’t need her to find the truth. We can figure this out together. You and me,” I breathe out, dragging my hands over my face.

Her eyes narrow. There is something cold in her gaze. She’s already shutting me out and I know that there is no way for me to push my way inside.

“This isn’t about you,” her words are coarse and rough.

“It is when it risks everything we’ve built. When it risks you and our baby!” I immediately respond.

“You don’t get to decide what I need. You said you’d support me, no matter what,” she steps back, folding her arms.

“That was before I knew some twisted psychic was still playing puppet master with your trauma,” I shoot back. “She’s not helping you — she’s manipulating you.”

Emily’s voice drops, lower than before, but sharp. “I’m going to find her. Once we get back to the city. Whether you like it or not.”

The words hit like a punch to the ribs. I stare at her, jaw tight. Silence falls between us. It is ugly and uncomfortable, everything that I do not wish for it to be.

“You really don’t care what I think about this?” I ask. My question is direct and sharp. I can no longer stand here and pretend as if what she is about to do is something that I will let her get away with.

She looks away, silent for a second. She stares at the nothingness of the wooden floor, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. It’s a nasty habit she picked up.

“I do care. But this is bigger than you. Bigger than us. I have to do this for our baby. For my wolf. I have to.”

I step closer, reaching for her, desperate to ground this before it goes too far. “Emily—” But she takes a step back. I freeze.

“No. You don’t get to change my mind by touching me,” she turns, walks toward the hallway, and I know she’s heading to the bedroom before she even says it. “I need space,” she calls over her shoulder. Her words are like venom against my skin.

“Emily, don’t—”

But she’s already gone.

A second later, I hear the bedroom door slam shut. Then the click of the lock. I stand there, staring at the hallway, heart pounding.

The sound of the ocean is still there, steady and uncaring in the background. Inside the house, though, everything feels like it’s breaking. Ready to crack under the pressure of Emily and I’s tension with one another.

She’s only locked me out before once. Just once. Every other time we were angry with each other, the door remained unlocked between us, the barrier always able to be broken when needed.

There is something about this that is different. Something between us has broken, snapped from the stress that we have put it under.

I clench my fists, trying to breathe through the anger and the fear. I know why she’s doing this. I know she thinks this is the only way to wake her wolf, to protect our baby. And I want to believe her. God, I want to trust her instincts.

But Wanda? That woman plays with people’s pain like it’s a game. And I’m not going to stand by and watch the woman I love walk straight into another nightmare…even if it means she hates me for it.