Ella
After cleaning and dressing Logan’s wound, I sat back, studying his face for any sign of discomfort. The room was still, save for the quiet rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Warm light from the garage lamps washed over us from above, casting a soft glow that etched out the angles and curves of his face.
I never thought that I would find a garage comforting, but something about this place made me feel warm and surprisingly safe.
“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. “For everything. You’ve placed yourself in danger time and again for my sake.”
Logan shook his head, his deep blue eyes, though filled with pain, glistening with intensity. “Ella,” he began, voice gravelly, “it’s you who ventured into the lion’s den, not me. I never wanted you caught
