Chapter 230— Ashes of Honor
The afternoon sun painted the city in bronze, shadows stretching long between towers of steel and glass. Logan walked beside Maddie, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, a cigar clamped in his teeth but unlit. She had that bounce in her step — the kind you only get when you're not carrying ghosts in your ribs.
Maddie pointed at a street musician playing saxophone. "See? That's what I miss when I'm flying. You don't hear soul like that up there in the clouds."
Logan grunted, half a smile tugging his lip. "Up there you just hear engine hum. Trust me, darlin', I've spent enough time listenin' to it through hull plates."
She laughed, sharp and bright. "You've got the voice of a man who hates seatbelts."
"Seatbelts are suggestions." He finally struck a match, lit the cigar, and drew smoke deep. His senses opened like a camera lens — hearing the scrape of rats in an alley, smelling the honey-roast nuts from a cart three blocks away, tracking Maddie's heartbeat steady and warm beside him.
It wasn't Jean's. Not even close. But damn if his traitorous body didn't find comfort in it anyway.
Maddie glanced at him, catching his faraway look. "You're always sniffing the air. You like the smell of cities that much?"
Logan exhaled smoke, watching it curl. "Smells tell you the truth. People lie. Scents don't."
"Cryptic," she teased, nudging his shoulder. "I like that."
Logan looked at her sidelong. Don't, bub. Don't like that she likes it.
Far away, in a chamber dark as pitch, a shadow leaned toward a portal screen shimmering with Logan and Maddie's stroll. Fingers tapped against an armrest, rhythm sharp, mind sharper.
"What the hell is he doing?" the shadow muttered. "Summers. Cyclops. Why hasn't he gone to her yet? He lets her walk into another man's orbit…"
The voice trailed into a low growl. Then a pause. A revelation.
"Wait. That one." The figure pointed at Logan's image. "His healing genes… powerful. The perfect combination. How did I overlook him before? Fantastic."
Mad laughter bubbled in the dark, but then it cut short with a hiss. "But I can't forget the previous plan. Years of weaving, years of waiting. Scott Summers' offspring was always the keystone. Thankfully, he married a normal human — no messy mutant blood. That will make the implantation easier."
The figure leaned back, grinning into shadow. "And now? Perhaps I'll have two children. Two legacies. One with Summers, one with this Wolverine. The plan holds, and I gain an upgrade."
The chamber echoed with laughter, manic, triumphant — the laughter of a puppet master tugging strings unseen.
Two weeks later
Logan stood outside Maddie's hotel door, knocking twice before she called, "Come in!"
The room smelled of garlic, butter, and something roasted. His stomach growled before he even crossed the threshold. Maddie wore an apron, hair tied back, cheeks flushed from the stove's heat.
"Don't just stand there like a statue," she said, wagging a spoon at him. "Sit. You're about to taste the best lasagna this side of the Atlantic."
He sat, pulling out his cigar but leaving it unlit. "Didn't peg you for the cookin' type."
"Everyone's gotta have a secret talent," she grinned, sliding the dish onto the table. "Mine's feeding stray wolves."
Logan smirked despite himself. "Guess I qualify."
They ate. She talked about flying, about skies that stretched forever, about freedom and silence. He listened, chewing slow, cataloging her every word. He kept trying to find Jean in her — a gesture, a tone — but she wasn't Jean. She was Maddie. And Maddie was… dangerous in a different way.
After dinner, the plates sat empty, the wine glasses half-drunk. Maddie leaned closer across the table, eyes bright.
"Logan." Her voice softened, her hand brushing his. "You're not like other men I've met. You're raw. Honest. Strong." She tilted her head, closing the gap, lips hovering close enough he could feel the heat.
His instincts screamed to close it. To drown in the comfort she offered.
But he pulled back.
Maddie's eyes widened. Then narrowed. "What's the meaning of this? Am I… that dirty to you?"
Logan lit his cigar with hands that shook just enough to betray him. He exhaled smoke between them, the smell of burnt earth filling the air. His voice rasped low, heavy.
"Maddie… it ain't you who's dirty. It's me. I can do anything dirty — fight, kill, bleed — but I won't soil my honor by cheatin'."
She froze. "What?"
"I already got a lover." His voice cracked like stone. "Mariko. She's my calm lake. My one anchor. I can't betray that. Not for anyone."
The silence that followed was knife-thin.
Maddie's lips trembled. "So you were just playing with me this whole time?"
"No." He leaned forward, desperate. "If I was playin', I'd never have told you this. Truth is, I got pulled in. Couldn't get away. But I didn't lie. Not once."
She turned her back to him, shoulders shaking. Her voice came out small, shattered. "Leave me alone to think."
Logan stood, heavy boots creaking against the floor. He looked at her back — rigid, fragile, beautiful. He left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.
Out in the hall, he clenched his fists until his claws nearly itched free. I'm trash. Pure trash.
An hour later, Logan stood on the edge of the White Wolf skyscraper, the neon sign glowing against the night sky. Below him stretched the city, alive and indifferent. He held a cigar between his fingers, the smoke whipping away into the wind.
Here goes nothin'.
He thought of Mariko — her calm lake surface finally shattered when he confessed. Her eyes like steel when she told him, Get out. Even Mariko, the one who saw the man in him, not the animal — even she couldn't stomach this.
"I'm really trash," he muttered, staring at the stars Maddie once admired.
He straightened his back, shoulders squared, even as the words cut through him like claws. He'd bleed for honor, but it didn't stop the pain of loss.
He drew one last drag from the cigar, exhaled, and walked away from the White Wolf, his shadow long against the city lights.