Page 23

Logan

The next morning, the world outside our makeshift shelter looked like God had taken a baseball bat to it.

Trees lay scattered like matchsticks, their massive root systems exposed to the harsh morning sun.

What had been dense jungle canopy now gaped with holes where the hurricane had torn through.

Debris—branches, leaves, unidentifiable pieces of village structures—littered every surface.

I stepped out first, weapon drawn out of habit, scanning for threats. The air felt different. Cleaner somehow, like the storm had scrubbed away the usual jungle rot and humidity. Sunlight streamed through the newly opened canopy in cathedral shafts, illuminating the destruction in harsh detail.

“Oh God,” Lauren breathed behind me, taking in the devastation.

A massive ceiba tree that must have stood for centuries lay across what used to be a path, its trunk wider than I was tall. The storm surge had rearranged the landscape, carving new channels where water had rushed through. Birds called tentatively, as if testing whether it was safe to exist again.

“We need to get moving.” I checked my compass, trying to orient myself in the altered terrain. “The storm’s over. Mateo’s people will be out looking for us again.”

Lauren nodded, but I caught something in her expression—hurt, maybe?—at my abrupt tone. I’d been doing that since we’d woken up. Trying to create a little distance between us.

Twenty-four hours. That was how long we’d been pressed together in that crumbling mining structure while Hurricane Tristan tried to tear the world apart outside. Twenty-four hours of her body against mine, her breath on my neck, her hands?—

I shoved the memories down hard. What happened in that shelter needed to stay there.

The sex had been… Christ, I didn’t have words for what it had been. Mind-blowing. Earth-shattering. Any number of phrases that should be hyperbole but weren’t.

Every time—and there had been several times—felt like drowning and being saved all at once. The way she’d whispered my name in the darkness. The way she’d trusted me completely, giving herself over without reservation.

But that was exactly why I needed to shut it down now.

I’d held her while she slept last night, my mind churning through all the ways this would go wrong. In the darkness, with her warm weight against my chest and her hair tickling my chin, I’d let myself imagine it for a moment. Taking her home. Introducing her to the team. Building something real.

Then I’d remembered the last woman I’d tried to date.

Sarah. Nice girl, teacher at a local elementary school.

We’d lasted exactly three dates before she’d seen what I really was.

Some asshole at a bar had gotten aggressive, made a sudden move toward her, and I’d reacted on instinct.

Had him on the floor with his arm twisted behind his back before conscious thought kicked in.

The look on Sarah’s face—fear, directed at me—still haunted me.

That would be Lauren’s face eventually. When she realized the violence wasn’t something I did, it was something I was .

Lauren deserved so much better than damaged goods. Out here, with danger pressing in and survival on the line, I felt like my best self. Focused. Capable. The constant noise in my head quieted to manageable levels when I had clear objectives and immediate threats to manage.

Back in her world, though? In Chicago, with its crowds and unexpected noises and the thousand daily triggers that sent my nervous system into overdrive? I’d be a liability. A burden. Another broken soldier who couldn’t adjust to civilian life.

The guy who flinched every time a car backfired.

Who struggled to enjoy Fourth of July fireworks without falling into deep thought about the sounds of firefights long distant, and yet always feeling like I never left them.

Who still checked every room for exits and threats even at a fucking dinner party.

She’d held me while I slept, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. I’d felt her smile against my shoulder when she thought I was unconscious. Like she was imagining some kind of future where this— us —could work.

I couldn’t let her believe that lie. Making it clear from the beginning was the kindest way.

“We’ll head northeast. Not the most direct route, but will probably end up taking the least amount of time.” I consulted my mental map of the area. “Maybe ten kilometers to Puerto Esperanza if we push hard.”

“Then let’s push hard.”

I started forward without looking at her, knowing if I saw hurt in those green eyes, I might do something stupid like apologize.

Or worse, explain. Tell her about the nightmares that would come back once we left this pressure cooker.

About how I couldn’t handle grocery stores on bad days.

About the times I’d scared women I’d tried to date when some innocent gesture triggered the wrong memory.

Better to just go.

The jungle fought us for every meter. What had been navigable paths were now obstacle courses of fallen trees and flood debris. We climbed over, crawled under, squeezed between. New streams cut through what had been solid ground, constantly forcing us to adjust our route.

My shirt was soaked with sweat within an hour, and I could hear Lauren breathing hard behind me. But she didn’t complain, didn’t ask to slow down. Just kept pushing forward with that determination I’d come to admire.

And hate myself for admiring.

“Water break,” I called, finding a relatively clear spot on a moss-covered boulder.

She sat beside me—not quite touching but close enough that I felt her warmth. We passed our cup with a purifying water tab between us in silence. Her lips touched where mine had been, and I had to look away.

“Listen,” she started, her voice soft. “About last night?—”

“We should keep moving.” I stood abruptly, draining the cup and putting it back in the bag. “The flooding will have pushed every snake and spider to higher ground. Need to watch where we step.”

Her jaw tightened, but she stood without argument. I saw the flash of hurt in her eyes before she turned away, and I hated myself a little more. But this was for her own good. Let her think I was an asshole now rather than discover the truth later.

We pushed on through the devastation. More than once, I had to stop and recalculate our position, trying to match the altered landscape to my mental map.

“Logan.” Lauren’s voice was carefully neutral. “Can we at least talk about what happens when we reach Puerto Esperanza?”

“We make contact with my team. Arrange extraction. Get you home safe.” I kept my tone professional, clinical.

The sound hit us before we saw it. A roar like constant thunder, growing louder with each step. When we finally pushed through the last wall of vegetation, we both stopped dead.

The river—if you could still call it that—had transformed into a monster.

What had probably been a ten-meter-wide waterway was now a fifty-meter torrent of brown water carrying entire trees like toys.

The current moved with terrifying speed, whirlpools forming and disappearing, debris surfacing only to be sucked back under.

The air was thick with spray, turning the sunlight into tiny rainbows that seemed obscenely cheerful given the danger.

“Shit.” I assessed our options. The banks on both sides had been carved away, leaving raw earth cliffs.

Downstream, the river disappeared around a bend, but I could hear the continuous crash of rapids.

The river curved here, which meant we’d have to cross eventually or add another day to our journey. A day we didn’t have.

“There.” I pointed to a massive tree trunk that had lodged itself between two boulders, creating a natural bridge about three meters above the churning water. “We can cross there.”

Lauren stared at the makeshift bridge. The trunk had to be two feet in diameter, but it glistened with moisture and moss. “That doesn’t look stable.”

“It’s not.” I studied the trunk’s position.

One end rested on a flat boulder on our side, the other wedged between two larger rocks on the far bank.

The middle sagged slightly, and I could see where smaller branches had already been stripped away by the current’s spray.

“But it’s our best option. The river’s only going to get worse as more runoff hits it. ”

She took a breath, squaring her shoulders. That little gesture—the way she gathered her courage—made my chest tight. “Okay. How do we do this?”

“I’ll go first, test its stability. Once I’m across, you follow.

Move steady, don’t look down, keep three points of contact when possible.

” I moved closer to demonstrate. “See how the bark’s been worn smooth here?

Avoid those spots. And here—” I pointed to a section where a branch had broken off, leaving a jagged stub. “Watch for hazards like this.”

“Three points of contact,” she repeated, studying the trunk with that same intense focus she’d shown when examining patients. “Like rock-climbing.”

“Exactly. And, Lauren?” I waited until she met my eyes. “If something goes wrong, if you fall, don’t fight the current. Go limp, protect your head, and look for something to grab.”

Something flickered in her expression—surprise, maybe, at the intensity in my voice. “Okay.”

The trunk was slick with moisture and moss. I tested it with my weight, feeling it shift slightly but hold. The roar of the water below was deafening, spray hitting my face as I began to cross. The bark was rough under my palms, but slippery. Each step required complete focus.

Halfway across, the trunk dipped lower, bringing me close enough to the water that spray soaked my legs. I could feel the raw power of the current in the way it made the massive log vibrate. One slip, and the river would have me.

I made it to the far side and immediately turned back. “Your turn. Slow and steady.”