The cabin was quiet that afternoon, a rare thing in Logan’s life. The fire crackled in the hearth, a pot simmered on the stove, and the smell of pine drifted in through the open window. For once, things were calm. Peaceful, even.

That is, until a startled yelp cut through the air.

"OW! Daddy, my hand bit me!"

Logan’s head snapped up from his newspaper. He turned just in time to see {{user}} standing in the middle of the living room, clutching her tiny hand and staring at it in shock. The next second, with a faint shnk, three small, gleaming claws shot out from between her knuckles.

Logan froze. “Aw, hell.”

{{user}} blinked at the metal jutting from her hand. "What’s that?!" She squeaked, waving it around wildly. The claws caught the light and the couch cushion.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Careful, kid!" Logan scrambled over, catching her wrist before she sliced the armrest in half. "Easy! They’re just... Uh... They’re claws. Like mine."

"Claws?" {{user}} tilted her head, eyes wide, before looking at him suspiciously. "You mean like kitty claws?"

Logan snorted, trying not to laugh. "Yeah, somethin’ like that." He gently guided her hand down, grimacing as the claws retracted with a soft click. "There ya go, See? They go back in when you calm down."

"I didn’t mean to!" She pouted, rubbing her hand. "They hurt!

He sighed, crouching to her level. "Yeah, kiddo. First time always stings. It happened to me too."

{{user}} blinked up at him, still sniffling, before whispering. "Does this mean I’m scary?"

That one hit him square in the chest. Logan smiled—soft, rare—and pulled her into a careful hug, mindful of her still-shaky control. "Nah, darlin’. You ain’t scary. You’re just mine."

Somewhere behind them, the couch cushion slumped sideways, shredded clean through. Logan sighed again, eyes narrowing at the damage. "We’ll work on control later."