Morris’s face contorted into a scowl. "Excuse ?" he barked. "You think now is the ti to interrogate family mbers? My daughter is lying in there, fighting for her life... barely breathing... and you want to question us?!"
The detective remained calm. "This is protocol in an active investigation. We understand this is a sensitive situation, but ti is critical. We have to rule out every possibility and gather all firsthand accounts."
"You think one of us tried to kill her?" Morris snapped, voice rising. "You’re wasting ti! The culprit is out there, getting away... why don’t you go do your job instead of treating us like suspects!"
"Uncle...," Jean said quietly, trying to de-escalate. "Please. Let them do what they have to. Emma would want justice, wouldn’t she?"
Morris turned to her sharply. "Don’t talk to like you know what she wants."
Jean flinched but didn’t look away.
Logan stepped forward, voice cool but firm. "We’ll cooperate, detective. You’ll get what you need."
Detective Carver nodded. "We appreciate that. The sooner we get statents, the faster we can move on this."
The hallway buzzed with fluorescent lights overhead, but the rest of the world felt dimr. As if soone had turned down the volu of life itself.
Jean stood frozen beside Logan, her fingers absently clutching the hem of her coat. Her mind kept circling the sa image... Emma’s pale face, eyes closed, still... yet breathing.
Still alive.
The echo of beeping machines haunted her ears.
From behind her, the low voice of Detective Carver broke through the haze.
"We understand it’s been a long night," he said, scanning their tired, stricken faces... Logan, Henry, Jean, and Morris, whose eyes were rimd red with grief and confusion.
"But we’re requesting all family mbers and close associates involved be present at the station first thing tomorrow morning to give full statents."
Jean’s breath caught. "Tomorrow?"
Carver gave a slow nod. "Yes. The attempted homicide took place inside a secure hospital. That tells us one thing... whoever did this is connected, and bold. We need everyone’s cooperation."
Morris was silent, fists clenched. But Jean noticed the faint tick in his jaw, the way his shoulders stiffened. He didn’t speak, but sothing in his silence felt louder than any scream.
Detective Carver continued, his tone diplomatic but firm. "That includes Mr. Derek Adams, Mrs. Darla Adams... and Mr. Alex Adams."
Jean’s heart dropped to her stomach.
For the first ti that night, she saw a flash of panic across Morris’s face.
Logan’s voice was clipped and cold. "You’re bringing all of them in?"
"It’s standard," the detective said. "We’re not accusing anyone... yet. But this wasn’t a random act. Soone tried to finish off Emma Adams. And based on preliminary statents from hospital staff... that soone may still be among you."
Jean exchanged a glance with Logan. His jaw was locked, but his eyes... dark and protective... t hers with an intensity that spoke louder than words.
She wasn’t alone. Not anymore.
The detective gave one last nod. "Tomorrow morning. 9 a.m. At the precinct."
He turned and walked away.
Behind them, Emma’s machines kept beeping steadily, each pulse a fragile reminder that ti was running out... and the enemy still wore a familiar face.
Logan’s jaw clenched as Detective Carver finished his announcent. He kept his composure, but every word scraped against the storm building inside him.
They wanted Jean at the police station. Again.
He didn’t need a reminder of how the system had failed her before. He still rembered that night in the hospital, when she finally... barely... let sothing slip. That she’d gone to the police once. For help. And walked out with nothing but sha and silence... because Adams’ blood money had paid off every ounce of truth she tried to speak.
And now they wanted her to walk back into that place.
No. Not if he could help it.
He could already feel her beside him, shrinking just a little. Not visibly... but he felt it. The tension in her shoulder. The way her arms crossed tighter over her chest.
Damn it.
Logan wanted to take her hand. To tell her he’d be there, every step. That nothing would touch her while he was around.
But she wouldn’t let him. She never let him. Every ti he tried, she built walls faster than he could tear them down.
It frustrated him to no end.
He turned his eyes to her now. She wasn’t even looking at him. Her gaze was distant. Fixed sowhere only her ghosts could see.
And yet he saw it... all of it.
The fear she buried. The guilt she shouldn’t be carrying. The stubborn refusal to be anyone’s burden.
Why won’t you just lean on , Jean? Why can’t you see that I want to carry this with you... hell, for you if I have to?
But all he could do was stand there. Silent. Fuming.
The detective’s footsteps faded down the corridor. Henry looked like he wanted to say sothing. Morris looked like he wanted to punch soone. Jean... Jean just looked like she was trying not to fall apart.
And Logan?
He closed his eyes for a mont, breathed in the sterile air, and told himself one thing:
This ti, I won’t let her walk alone. Not even if she wants to.
_________________________
The house was silent, except for the faint hum of the microwave and the soft clatter of porcelain.
Logan stood in the kitchen, still in his dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The takeout containers were open, their faint steam curling up like ghosts of a forgotten dinner hour. He moved thodically... rice, chicken, greens. A quiet ritual. A distraction from everything they couldn’t fix tonight.
He didn’t have the appetite. But Jean needed sothing. Anything normal. Anything grounding.
He glanced toward the hallway, where she had disappeared almost as soon as they got ho. She hadn’t said a word in the car. Not after the hospital. Not after the police announcent.
And he hadn’t pushed.
He never did when she got like this... tucked behind layers of silence like a fortress she built brick by brick every ti the world proved it hated her.
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