Logan's POV
The valley is still except for the sound of water lapping against stone.
I'm kneeling at the edge of the lake with my hands submerged, watching the blood on them drift away from my skin in thin black ribbons. The cold stings, but it also grounds me in the present. My reflection wavers on the surface, broken every time I move, and I can't decide if I'm grateful or resentful that the water won't hold me still.
Fenrir and Kato are sprawled in the grass behind us, their chests rising and falling in tired rhythm. Cleaned of blood and patched up, they deserve the reprieve. Dad stands in the water a few paces down the shore, silent, his broad shoulders bowed as he rinses his face.
