The morning mist lingered over the trees, wet grass beneath Jean’s feet as she stepped outside the cave. Her eyes were sunken from another restless night, her limbs heavy from days of survival, but her heart... her heart was louder than ever.
That’s when she heard it.
The deep, thudding rhythm of blades slicing the air.
Jean froze.
A beat later, Logan stepped out beside her, holding his breath. "That’s... that’s a chopper," he said, voice just above a whisper, afraid the sound might disappear if he acknowledged it too soon.
They looked at each other with eyes wide, not believing for a sec... and ran.
Branches scraped against their skin. The forest floor nearly swallowed their ankles with every clumsy step. But they didn’t stop. Not this ti.
They burst out onto the beach, lungs burning, hearts pounding.
The helicopter was circling above. Slower this ti. Lower.
Jean threw both arms into the air, yelling, screaming, doing anything she could to make herself seen. Logan joined her, waving frantically, his voice cracking from effort.
And then... it hovered.
A rope ladder ca down, swinging gently above the sand as the wind from the rotors tossed Jean’s hair wildly around her face.
Two figures descended from the side of the aircraft.
"You two alright?" one of them called out as their boots hit the ground.
Jean couldn’t answer. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the sand with a sob that had been trapped inside her for days. Weeks.
Logan remained standing, but his hands trembled by his sides.
"We saw your signal. Soone noticed it during a follow-up satellite sweep," the rescuer explained. "Good thing you fixed it. Another hour or so, and we would’ve passed this island completely."
Jean laughed in relief... a breathless, choked laugh... as tears stread down her cheeks. "We thought... we thought no one would ever co."
The rescuer nodded and gently helped her up. "You’re safe now."
She looked at Logan then. His eyes t hers for a mont. There was sothing unreadable in his expression... relief, exhaustion, anger... or maybe all of it at once.
But he said nothing.
Neither did she.
Because this mont was for them to be relieved.
_______________________________
The mont Jean stepped onto the helicopter, the noise faded into a strange, muffled silence. The rumble of the engine was still there, but it was nothing compared to the chaos of the island.
Solid.
Safe.
She sat by the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself. The rescuer handed her a thermal blanket and a bottle of water. She accepted both with a silent nod.
Logan sat across from her.
Neither of them spoke to each other.
The rescue team occasionally checked on them, but the two castaways remained in their own isolated bubble... one of shared trauma, unspoken words, and a bond neither wanted to admit.
Jean peeked out the window.
Skyscrapers erged from the clouds, getting clearer as they approached the city.
Reality.
Everything they’d escaped was now waiting to reclaim them.
She closed her eyes for a mont, leaning her head against the glass. Her body was safe... but her mind still lingered on the island.
On sleepless nights. On argunts, on vulnerability, and on him.
Across from her, Logan was watching.
The cuts on his face had scabbed over, and his beard had grown in more than he’d ever allowed it to. But he was still him... just quieter now.
"Jean," he said, low and almost hesitant.
She opened her eyes, eting him.
"Whatever happened back there..." he started, then stopped, rethinking his words. "Forget it."
Jean stared at him a second longer, unsure what to say. But this ti, she didn’t argue. Didn’t fight.
She just looked away and whispered, "Fine. That’s for the best."
The helicopter dipped lower.
The city lood beneath them... shining, vibrant, and completely unaware that the two people inside this chopper had just survived hell together.
And now they’d have to face a whole different kind of storm.
"You got this, Jean." She muttered to herself. "It’s just hell from another hell, nothing new."
As the helicopter’s blades slowed, the city’s familiar hum rushed in... car horns in the distance, the low murmur of people, the breeze that carried smog and stories. Logan stepped off first, his boots hitting solid ground. He straightened up and took a deep breath.
It slled like concrete and chaos. But it was ho.
He turned back, eyes imdiately scanning for her.
Jean was still inside, gathering herself. Her movents were slow, wary... as if she was not excited anymore.
And maybe it was.
As she reached the edge of the chopper’s doorway, she hesitated... squinting at the sudden brightness, the eyes waiting for them, the unknown.
Logan instinctively extended his hand.
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t grand.
Just a simple gesture.
A hand... scarred, and rough reaching for hers.
Jean froze mid-step.
Her eyes dropped to the hand. The very sa hand that pulled her up a cliff, that steadied her when she was in fever, that cooked and bled and fought alongside her.
Even after everything... after her outburst, after his sharp words... he was still offering help.
Slowly, she t his gaze.
There was no pressure in his expression. No smug smirk. Just quiet patience.
Jean’s eyes flickered down. Her body moved without warning... just slightly... as if she might take it.
And then...
"JEAN!"
A familiar voice pierced the mont.
Emma.
Wearing a dical vest, face pale with panic and relief, she shoved past the dics and dashed toward the chopper. Tears were already running down her cheeks.
Jean blinked, startled.
Before she could reach for Logan, Emma’s arms wrapped around her waist and steadied her. "Oh my god, you’re okay... you’re really okay!"
Emma helped Jean step down carefully.
Logan’s hand hovered midair for half a second longer... then dropped.
His fingers curled into his palm.
He hadn’t expected her to take it.
He just needed her to know... it was there.
He stepped aside, watching as Emma fussed over Jean, guiding her toward the waiting paradics. Blankets. Questions. Relief.
But in the midst of all that... Jean turned.
Only for a second.
Her eyes found him.
Quiet. Steady.
Not a thank you. Not an apology. Just a look.
A look that said I saw your hand.
And Logan... he nodded.
It was probably the last ti they would ever see each other.
Or so he thought.
As Logan stepped back, lost in Jean’s gaze, the crowd around him blurred... paradics, flashing lights, voices barking orders.
And then...
"Logan!"
His na broke through the noise, a familiar cry that pierced straight into his chest.
He turned, barely in ti to catch sight of his mother, Martha Kingsley, sprinting toward him with tears streaming down her face.
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