Page 111 of Rescued By the Alpha SEAL

But I also know that I can’t make that promise. Not when my existence endangers everyone around me.

"I promise." The words taste like copper in my mouth. It's a lie I had to make if I want to keep everyone else alive.

Something shifts in his eyes, a mix of sadness and resolve.

He nods once, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "I know you will. And I’ll be here, fighting with you. Even if it’s from afar."

His words send a shiver down my spine. I regret lying already. But it's a choice I've made. I press a soft kiss to his lips, a silent vow of gratitude.

Thank you for protecting me.

Thank you for trusting me.

Thank you for loving me.

We shift, our bodies moving together as we sink back onto the bed, limbs entwined, breaths syncing.

Before dawn breaks over the horizon, I slip out of Logan’s arms, the warmth of the bed fading as I step onto the cold floor.

I dress quickly, the familiar feel of my clothes a comfort against the uncertainty that lies ahead.

The room is bathed in the soft gray light of pre-dawn, each shadow and corner limned in a hazy blur.

I pause, turning to look at Logan one last time. He sleeps, his face relaxed, the lines of tension smoothed away.

The sight of him—vulnerable, peacefully unguarded—tugs at my heart, a sharp ache of longing and regret.

A heavy sigh escapes me, the weight of the decision I’ve made pressing down on my shoulders.

But I know what I have to do. I can’t risk anyone else getting hurt because of me, because of the secrets I carry.

With a final glance back, I step out of the room, the door closing behind me with a soft click.

35

LOGAN

Iwake to coldness.

My arm reaches across the sheets, searching for warmth that should be there. Finding nothing but empty space.

For a moment, I lie perfectly still, waiting for my senses to align. For the sound of running water from the bathroom. For the scent of coffee from the kitchen. For any sign that tells me she's still here.

But the cabin holds only silence.

I bolt upright, heart suddenly hammering against my ribs. My hand presses against the sheets where Sloane should be. The fabric is cool beneath my palm. She's been gone for hours.

No.

Throwing back the covers, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. My boots are exactly where I left them. Her clothes are gone from the floor. Even the air feels different—emptier somehow, like the oxygen's been sucked out of the room.

"Sloane?" My voice sounds foreign in the stillness.

No answer.

I grab my pants from the floor, yanking them on as I move. The wooden floorboards creak beneath my feet as I stride into the hallway, checking each room with military precision.

Bathroom first. The door stands open, revealing nothing but pristine counters and a perfectly folded towel. No steam on the mirror. No lingering scent of her shampoo.