Chapter 29

Evelyn

Logan hadn’t spoken to me in days.

The silence should have been a relief. After all the tension, the arguments, the way his eyes used to follow me like a storm, I thought I’d finally be free of the weight of it all. I should’ve felt lighter, untethered. Instead, I felt hollowed out.

It was like something vital had been stretched thin inside me, frayed at the edges, and was finally snapping. I couldn’t shake the memory of Emma’s cruel smirk and Logan’s lack of defense. The worst part of it all was that Emma was right: I didn’t belong here, not really.

After I had stormed away from him in the medic’s wing, he had refused to look at me anymore when we passed each other in the halls. Even though I had told him I would be leaving, he didn’t try to stop or even ask where I’d go. Just… silence. Clean, cold, and final.

I told myself that this was good. This was what I wanted. This distance was the closure we both needed. It would make my leaving all the easier.

So why did it ache so badly?

I hadn’t left yet. I kept saying it was because I was still packing, but that was a lie. The handful of things I owned were already folded neatly into one bag. I could have left that moment if I wanted.

I just… didn’t.

Maybe I was waiting for something. A sign. A reason. Maybe I was still foolish enough to hope.

But hope is a dangerous thing. Especially when it keeps you standing still in a place where you’re no longer wanted.

And yet still, I waited for him to stop ignoring me, to tell me that he would miss me, to show me even a glimmer that he cared.

But days passed without anything.

So on that final night before I was set to leave, when all of my patience and allowance of second chances had dried up, I decided I needed to feel something else. It was my final night, and I wouldn’t spend it wallowing as I had been for days.

So I slipped out before sunset and made my way to the tavern by the edge of camp. It was notorious as being the place where the soldiers sometimes went to blow off steam, far from the polished stone and polished lies of the halls I was so familiar with.

The tavern was dimly lit and noisy, thick with the scent of sweat, roasted meat, and spiced liquor. Laughter spilled from corners like broken glass, too loud, too sharp. I slid into a booth in the back and ordered the strongest drink they had.

Quickly, it became apparent that I was a spectacle. There were very few women around, and those who were there were busy flirting as they waited on tables of gruff soldiers.

But this was no matter. I wasn’t here to make friends. I had one incentive: to get very, very drunk.

And I did, far faster than I had expected.

The first drink went down quickly, burning and clean, and I welcomed the numbness. The second dulled the ache behind my ribs, that low throb that had lingered for days and days. By the third, I’d stopped thinking about Logan’s voice, the way he used to say my name like it meant something.

By the fourth, I couldn’t think at all.

It felt good to let go. In those fleeting moments, I was utterly free. At least, for a while.

Then he showed up.

I didn’t know him. Didn’t recognize his face, though something about the fierce confidence in his eyes told me this wasn’t his first time hunting in dim places. He was broad-shouldered, older, with a crooked smile and hands that touched the edge of my table without permission. His nose looked like it had been broken before and hadn’t been set properly.

“Hello,” he said smugly.

I squinted. “Do I know you?” Perhaps he was one of the many soldiers I had stitched up and did not immediately recognize.

“Not yet,” he said. “But I think we can change that.”

He slid into the vacant seat next to me without asking. I recoiled slightly from his closeness.

“Let me buy you one more,” he said, gesturing to the empty glass in front of me.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, my words thick with liquor.

But he didn’t leave. His knee brushed mine like it belonged there. I shifted and tried not to grimace.

“Really, I was… I was just leaving,” I said, standing too quickly. The room spun slightly, but I steadied myself against the edge of the table. I could feel my body warming with embarrassment. Anyone with eyes would be able to see how inebriated I was.

He stood too. “I’ll walk you home. You’re in no state to go alone.”

“Please, I’m good,” I said.

“It’s dangerous at such an hour for a lady by herself. She should have an escort.”

“I didn’t ask,” I snapped, stepping away. I turned and fled as quickly as my wobbly legs would take me, dodging through the crowd of people like I was fighting through a strong current of water.

Outside, the air was cold enough to bite through the haze the alcohol had veiled my senses with, and it brought gooseflesh to my limbs. I turned down a narrow alley to take the shortcut back to camp. It was stupid. I knew better. But I just wanted to be alone, and this was the quickest way back to safety.

It was a mistake.

A hand clamped around my wrist and yanked.

I slammed into the brick wall to my right, my head ringing with the impact. Panic flared. The man’s face loomed close, his breath rank with beer and something sourer.

“Little mouse, are you playing hard to get?” he slurred. “Didn’t think you’d run off on me, did you?”

“Let me go,” I hissed, shoving at his chest. But it was no use. He was a solid mass, pressing me harder and harder into the bricks.

No matter how hard I fought against him, he didn’t budge.

“I said—” I tried to knee him, but my body was sluggish, slow. He caught my leg, pinned me harder against the wall. My breath hitched.

“You got a mouth on you,” he muttered, one hand fisting in my hair. “Bet you taste sweet when you’re not pretending to be tough. Come on, little mouse. Let me have a taste.”

Fear slammed into me, raw and electric. My instincts to keep fighting stirred, but I was too far gone, too drunk, too slow. Every attempt I made wasn’t enough.

No one was coming.

The thought came sudden and sharp: Logan wasn’t here. He didn’t want me anymore. The one person who might have saved me as he had before on the battlefield now wanted nothing to do with me. He wouldn’t even speak to me.

No one was coming to save me.

I clenched my eyes shut.

And then—

A growl.

Low. Guttural. Familiar.

It cut through the darkness like a blade, vibrating through the walls, through the air, through my bones.

The man froze, his body becoming rigid against mine.

“What the hell—” he started, but didn’t finish.

The growl came again, louder now. Closer.

The man spun toward the mouth of the alley, still pressing me mercilessly, though his hold had slackened. I couldn’t see who it was. Couldn’t see anything past his wide back and the shadow beyond.

But I didn’t need to see.

I knew that sound. I knew that snarl.

It wasn’t a rogue. It wasn’t a stranger.

That growl was a promise. A warning.