Logan slowed to a stop outside the address Damian had forwarded to him. His motorcycle engine cut off with a low growl, leaving the muted sounds of the city to fill the silence. He pulled off his helmet, his fingers tightening around it as he stared at the building in front of him.
A restaurant.
Of all places, this was where Rapture had chosen. The sign above was unassuming, its neon glow faint. Logan's jaw flexed as his grip on the helmet tightened further. A restaurant. Clean, quiet, almost normal. But nothing about this was normal.
He stood there for a moment longer, a storm brewing behind his eyes. Fear slid under his skin like ice while anger rose like a tide, hot and suffocating. He hated that mixture—hated how it crawled through him every time the past caught up. He was a grown man now, not the boy Rapture had shaped. He shouldn't feel this way anymore. And yet, here he was, standing at the door of a place chosen by the man who'd made him into something he despised.
