Logan slowed his steps, his gaze catching on the woman he had brushed against. For a split second, his chest had tightened—he thought it was Freya. The tilt of her chin, the curve of her hair falling over one shoulder—it had been so close. But when she turned, her eyes were brown, not the deep gray he’d memorized.
“Sorry,” he muttered under his breath, stepping back quickly.
The woman blinked at him, startled but polite. “It’s alright.”
Kia, standing a few feet away, arched a brow. “You need to be more careful,” he said with a half-smirk, though his tone carried an undertone of warning.
Logan gave a brief nod, his chest tightening with unspoken frustration. He wasn’t just being clumsy—he was desperate. Every glimpse of a shadow, every hint of a familiar shape, he thought it was her. An
