“You’re afraid of me.”
The words were barely audible over the crackling fire, but they hit me with the force of a thunderclap. I froze mid-motion, the blanket I’d been pulling around my shoulders slipping off as I turned to face Logan.
“What did you just say?” I asked, my voice unsteady.
He sat on the edge of the couch, his head bowed and his hands clasped tightly together. The firelight cast shadows across his face, making his expression unreadable.
“You’re afraid of me,” he repeated, louder this time. “Not just of what I can do, but of who I am.”
The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I opened my mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come.
“It’s okay,” he said, finally looking up at me. His eyes weren’t angry or accusatory—they were tired, filled with a sadness
