Page 18

“You try different things until you find what helps. Same as any other medical condition.” I kept my voice matter-of-fact.

That was the only way he was going to accept any of this.

“The goal isn’t to erase trauma or pretend bad things didn’t happen.

It’s to give your brain better tools for managing the memories and reactions. ”

“Huh.” Logan started repacking our supplies, but his movements were thoughtful rather than dismissive. “Never heard it explained that way before.”

“Most people think of PTSD as a mental health problem, which makes it seem mysterious and unfixable. But it’s really a neurological condition—your brain’s alarm system getting stuck in the ‘on’ position.”

“Like a smoke detector that goes off every time you make toast.”

“Exactly.” I was pleased by the analogy. “You don’t need to get rid of the smoke detector. You just need to recalibrate its sensitivity.”

Logan shouldered his pack and stood, extending a hand to help me up. “We should keep moving. Want to cover more ground before dark.”

And that was it—the most his brain would tolerate. There was no point pushing or trying to get more points in. He had to sift through it all in his brain and decide what to keep and what to toss.

I accepted the hand he extended to me, again noting the easy strength as he pulled me to my feet. “Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for trusting me enough to talk about this. I know it’s not easy.”

“Thanks for not making it weird.” His expression was serious but open. “And for explaining it in a way that actually makes sense.”

“Anytime.”

The afternoon brought us deeper into swamp territory. Solid ground became a memory as we picked our way between pools of murky water and mud that ranged from ankle-deep to unknowable. The air hummed with insects, and every shadow could hide a dozen different dangers.

“Watch for snakes,” Logan warned as we navigated around a particularly dark pool. “And anything that looks like a floating log might be something with teeth.”

“Caiman?” Those small alligator creatures were definitely not my favorite. They didn’t tend to be aggressive toward humans, but I’d still treated a couple of really nasty bites people had suffered from.

“Among other things.” He tested each step before committing his weight. “Follow my exact path. This mud can be deceptive.”

I tried to place my feet precisely where his had been, but the root systems under the water were like a maze. My boot caught on something hidden beneath the muck, and suddenly, I was pitching sideways toward the questionable ground?—

Logan’s arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me back against his chest before I could fall. For a moment, he held me suspended, my feet barely touching the ground, his arm like an iron band around my middle.

“Got you,” he said, and I could feel his breath warm against my ear.

Then he lifted me—actually lifted me completely off the ground—and carried me three steps to more solid footing, setting me down gently.

The moment my feet touched down, I jerked away, my face burning with embarrassment. His expression shifted, closing off like a door slamming shut. He took a step back, creating distance between us.

God, he must have felt how heavy I was, how solid. You’re like trying to lift a pile of rocks, babe. Good thing I work out.

I tried to push the voice out of my head, but it was never easy.

“Thanks,” I managed, not meeting Logan’s eyes. I forced a laugh that came out strained. “Good thing you’ve got quick reflexes. Though, your back might not thank you later. Let’s go.”

“Right. Let’s keep moving.”

The easy camaraderie from earlier evaporated. I could feel him withdrawing—not physically, we still had to stay close for safety, but there was a new stiffness to his movements, a careful politeness that hadn’t been there before.

Of course. He’d felt how heavy I was, how unfeminine. Whatever connection I’d imagined building between us had probably just died under the reality of my solid, practical physique.

We pushed on through increasingly difficult terrain, the silence broken only by Logan’s clipped warnings about hazards. Where before his instruction had been patient, almost warm, now they were purely professional.

“Deep water ahead. Go around.”

“Watch that branch.”

“Testing depth here. Wait.”

Each terse instruction felt like another brick in the wall suddenly between us.

We were picking our way through a section where fallen trees created a natural bridge over deeper water when Logan suddenly stopped, his entire body going rigid.

“Don’t move,” he said quietly.

Ahead of us, sprawled across the same fallen trunk we’d been using as a walkway, lay the most magnificent wild cat I’d ever seen.

Golden coat marked with distinctive black rosettes, powerful shoulders, and eyes like liquid amber that watched us with intelligent curiosity.

A jaguar, probably a young adult, completely blocking our path.

My heart hammered against my ribs as Logan slowly moved his hand toward his waist. Of course he would shoot it. That was what soldiers did when faced with dangerous predators, right? Eliminate the threat and move on.

But instead of drawing his pistol, Logan reached for something else—one of our empty food cans. He kept his movements slow and deliberate, never breaking eye contact with the big cat.

“Easy there, beautiful,” he murmured, his voice carrying none of the harsh command he used in tactical situations. “Just looking for an easy meal, aren’t you?”

The jaguar’s ears twitched forward at the sound of his voice, head tilting slightly like it was trying to understand this strange creature addressing it.

Logan raised the can and struck it against a nearby branch three times—sharp, metallic sounds that echoed through the swamp. The jaguar’s muscles tensed, ready to spring in either direction.

“That’s right,” Logan continued in the same calm tone. “Big scary noise. Nothing you want to deal with today.”

He struck the can again, adding a sharp whistle that made the big cat’s ears flatten slightly. But instead of attacking or running, the jaguar simply sat there, regarding us with what looked almost like amusement.

“Come on,” Logan coaxed. “You’ve got the whole jungle to hunt in. Find yourself a nice capybara and leave the weird humans alone.”

For a long moment, predator and human stared at each other in perfect stillness. Then, with movements like flowing water, the jaguar rose gracefully and padded away along the tree trunk, disappearing into the green shadows without a sound.

Logan waited until the normal sounds of the swamp returned before relaxing his stance. “Coast is clear.”

“You didn’t kill it.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

Logan looked at me with genuine surprise. “Why would I kill it?”

“I thought… I mean, most people would have shot first and asked questions later.”

“Most people are idiots.” Logan helped me past the section where the jaguar had been. “She wasn’t hunting—just curious and maybe hoping for scraps. Jaguars are incredibly intelligent. Give them a reason to avoid you, and they usually will.”

“She?”

“Body shape, facial structure. Definitely female, probably has cubs somewhere nearby.” There was real respect in his voice. “Beautiful creature. Be a shame to kill something that magnificent just because we wandered into its path.”

I stared at him, feeling a shift in my chest. This man, who could probably kill with terrifying skill, had chosen instead to understand and respect a wild predator. Had spoken to it like a fellow creature deserving of consideration.

“You’re not what I expected,” I said quietly.

Logan didn’t look at me. “What did you expect?”

“Someone who sees violence as the answer to everything.”

We crossed the makeshift bridge in silence for a beat before he spoke. “I’ve killed when I had to. When there was no other way to protect innocent people. But if killing ever feels easy—if it becomes your first option—you’ve already lost the part of yourself worth protecting.”

“Even when it’s your own life on the line?”

“Especially then.” His voice was low. Steady. “Because the second violence becomes your default, you stop being the kind of person who should carry a weapon.”

His words settled deep, echoing louder than the frogs and insects around us. Logan wasn’t just a warrior. He was someone who fought to stay human in a world that had tried to strip that away.

We moved in silence after that, but it wasn’t the same brittle quiet as before. It was heavier. Thoughtful. The kind of silence that shifted things between people.

By the time we found dry ground and set up for the night, I realized something else: Logan Kane was all contradiction. Capable of lethal force but choosing restraint. Hardened by violence but still somehow intact. Guarded, but willing to let cracks show if you paid attention.

And in spite of everything—the danger, the sweat, the uncertainty—I found myself wanting to know more.

Even if my tall, practical frame and general lack of grace meant I’d need to keep certain feelings locked up tight.