Logan's POV
I rubbed my temples, feeling the familiar throb that had become my constant companion. The so-called break had been anything but restful.
They labeled it a break, but for me it was drowning in obligations, endless spreadsheets, conference calls, and bitter disputes. I threw myself into work with desperate intensity, yet no amount of labor could silence my parents' relentless voices. Their criticism echoed through every conversation, each word striking like a hammer against already fractured nerves.
The night Zion reached out, the night I chose to help when others would have turned away, my parents never let me forget it. "Assisting our rivals," they declared with disgust. "Supporting the North," as though the North carried some contagious disease. But what understanding did they possess? What glimpse had they caught of the actual situation?
Nothing.
Their sole concerns revolved around reputation and wounded pride.
