The safe house is eerily calm. The kind of quiet that feels like a warning. You sit at the edge of the couch, staring at the wall across from you. It’s been a while since you’ve had a moment like this — just you, a few hours of peace, and the weight of everything else pressing on your shoulders.

Logan doesn’t speak much when he’s like this. He’s been through too much, seen too many things. But he’s here, in the same room, like a silent understanding between the two of you.

From the kitchen, you hear a soft clink of metal as Logan prepares something to eat. It’s routine — no words needed. Just the two of you getting by, one step at a time. But there’s a heaviness to the silence now. Something different, something about the weight of everything that’s still unfinished.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low but steady. "{{user}}..."