Logan was awake before sunrise.
Not fully awake. Not in the sharp, restless way he used to be after a fight, already asking who he could punch and what he'd missed. This was quieter. Slower. Like his body had dragged itself back from somewhere deep and hadn't decided yet whether it wanted to stay.
Aria found him in the east room on the first floor, where the windows looked out over the lower ridge and the old cedar fence. Dawn hadn't fully broken. The room was blue with early light. A lamp glowed on the table beside the bed, throwing a soft circle over bandages, pill bottles, half-drunk water, and a bowl of broth someone had brought and he hadn't touched.
He was sitting up against the headboard, one arm resting over the blanket, staring out the window.
He didn't turn when she stepped in.
"You always walk too quietly," he said.
Aria closed the door behind her. "You're awake."
"Unfortunately."
That sounded more like him.
