Logan jolted awake with a ragged gasp, air flooding his lungs like broken glass. The world came to him in fragments, blurred and jagged, as though someone had ripped reality into pieces and left him scrambling to stitch it together. Rain hammered against shattered glass, each drop sharp and unrelenting. The metallic tang of blood coated his tongue, copper and sour, and with it came the pulse of agony—throbbing in his skull, radiating down his neck, flooding every nerve.
For a moment he didn't know where he was. His body felt pinned, crushed by weight and confusion. Then memory hit—fast, brutal, unstoppable. Headlights, blinding and too close. A horn shrieking. The crunch of twisting steel. A sudden blackout that swallowed him whole.
Now, in the aftermath, he sat trapped in the wreckage, body trembling, the storm's cold breath seeping through the broken frame of the car. He turned his head slowly, and the sight clawed at his insides.
Lam sat slumped in the passenger seat, his body draped unnaturally against the dashboard. Glass glittered in his hair, blood smeared across his forehead. His chest rose—shallow, uneven—but it rose. Alive, for now. Relief and dread tangled in Logan's stomach, neither offering comfort.
A small tug pulled him back.
"Logan," a whisper came, fragile as thread.
He turned and saw Lily, pressed against the seat beside him. Her little hands clutched his sleeve with desperate strength, trembling so hard he could feel it in his bones. Tears cut streaks down her dirt-streaked face, wide eyes glistening in the dim, fractured light.
"Please—wake up," she begged, her voice quivering on the edge of panic.
He wanted to tell her he already had, that it was going to be fine, but the words came out broken, his throat raw and dry. "I'm… here," he rasped, though the lie scraped him inside and out.
Behind them, Scarlet's voice rose, piercing and uneven. She wasn't speaking so much as gasping out fragments, sobs hitching between each word. "Oh my God—oh my God—we're—no, no, no—" Her hands clawed at the seatbelt across her chest, her cries dissolving into a wail.
The noise rattled inside the broken car, amplifying the chaos.
But beneath it all, one absence pressed harder than any sound.
Clara wasn't there.
The thought slammed into him like another collision. His heart seized, his gaze snapping to the empty seat where she should have been. Glass glittered on the torn fabric. The belt hung slack, unlatched.
"Where's Clara?" His voice cracked, hoarse and sharp, slicing through the storm of panic.
Silence answered.
Lily sobbed harder, hiding her face against his arm. Scarlet's hysteria spiked, but her words made no sense, too fractured by fear. Lam remained motionless, a pale shape in the front seat.
"Where is she?" Logan demanded, louder this time, his desperation filling the wreckage. His own echo mocked him, bouncing off twisted metal.
No one could tell him.
Adrenaline surged, cutting through the fog. He shoved against the mangled door, shoulder screaming in protest. Metal groaned, then gave way with a screech. Cold air slammed into him, and suddenly the storm swallowed him whole.
Rain sheeted down in violent waves, soaking him instantly. Wind whipped at his clothes, tore at his skin, cut to the bone. The world outside was chaos—dark fields bending under the weight of the storm, the night sky ripped apart by streaks of lightning.
He stumbled forward, boots sinking into mud that clutched at him like hands. His balance wavered, but he forced himself upright, lungs burning as he shouted into the storm.
"Clara! Clara, where are you?"
His voice was raw, ripped from the depths of him, carried away by wind and thunder. Lightning burst overhead, the landscape flashing into stark white for a heartbeat. The field spread wide, endless waves of wheatgrass whipping violently. Shadows stretched long and jagged. But still no Clara in sight.
He pushed forward, each step heavy and treacherous. Mud sucked at his boots, threatening to drag him down. The wheat slapped his arms, his legs, stinging with each strike. His breath came short and sharp, chest burning. Every nerve screamed, but he kept moving, eyes raking the darkness for her shape.
For a moment he thought he saw her—something dark, low to the ground. He lunged toward it, heart hammering. But when lightning flared again, it was only a strip of torn fabric tangled in the grass, fluttering in the wind. Not Clara.
Panic spiked sharper.
He forced himself on, the storm battering him, the noise deafening. Then—something caught his eye.
Then he saw them—
Long grooves scarred the mud, uneven, jagged, carved deep into the earth. Not footprints. Not something an unconscious person could leave on her own if she was flung through the windshield. These were trails of resistance. Someone—had dragged her.
His stomach twisted. His breath hitched.
She was pulled.
He froze, rain pelting his face, heart thundering in his chest. For a long, hollow moment he couldn't move. The world tilted, spinning with dread.
Then—
"Logan!"
Her voice.
Thin, frayed, but alive. It cut through the storm like light through black water. He staggered toward the sound, his body jolting back into motion.
"Clara!" he roared back, desperate, his voice breaking.
He tore through the grass, slipping, sliding, his body protesting every movement. Stalks lashed his face, mud splattered up his legs, but none of it mattered. He pushed harder, faster, lungs on fire, every heartbeat a drum of terror.
Then—another sound.
A scream.
High, piercing. Not fear, but pain. Pure, soul-ripping agony that froze him where he stood.
The storm seemed to pause. Thunder silenced. Wind still. Rain hung heavy.
The scream cut everything away, leaving only silence.
And the silence was worse.
"Clara!" His voice cracked, jagged and helpless. He forced his legs to move, each step harder, heavier, his body nothing but pain. His hands bled where glass had torn them, crimson mixing with the rain, dripping onto the earth. His chest burned as if fire lived inside it, every breath clawing at his throat.
None of it mattered.
The only thing that mattered right now was finding Clara.
He plunged deeper into the field, blind to everything but the thought of her. Each shadow teased hope—there! A shape!—but when he reached it, it was only bent grass, a broken branch, an illusion. His desperation twisted tighter, panic gnawing at the edges of reason.
Memories assaulted him in flashes. Clara's laugh in the back seat earlier, singing off-key with Lily. Her small hands clutching her stuffed toy as the rain started. Her sleepy eyes were fighting to stay open before the headlights appeared as she was reaching out to put on her seatbelt. Logan put on before everything went dark And now—gone.
Guilt wrapped around his throat like a noose. He had been driving. He should've seen it. He should've protected her.
The storm roared again, as if mocking him. He screamed her name until his voice tore, until it was nothing but gravel and blood.
Still, he ran.
The drag marks grew deeper, more chaotic, slicing through the field. They pulled him forward like chains. His body trembled, every muscle stretched to breaking, but he couldn't stop. Not now. Not ever.
The field stretched endless, every step a war. But through it all, one truth seared in him, brighter than lightning, heavier than thunder.
He would find her.
He had to.
Because losing Clara was unthinkable.
Because letting her slip away was worse than death.
And so Logan ran, heart pounding, body breaking, voice raw, chasing the only thing that mattered at that moment through the storm.