Logan knew too much—and Nathan couldn't let that knowledge walk away.
He didn't speak. He simply shifted his stance, his magic beginning to stir, quietly but potently.
There would be no negotiations.
Only one solution remained.
Logan had to die.
"Posing as him? What does that mean?" Freja asked, her eyes narrowing with confusion as she glanced at Nathan. There was a tremor in her voice—barely perceptible, but it was there. She was alert now, all signs of casual curiosity replaced by tense scrutiny.
She was following the flow of the conversation surprisingly well, Nathan noted. Sharp instincts.
The man across from them—Logan—tilted his head slightly, almost in amusement, but there was no warmth in his gaze. His eyes, glinting like steel under moonlight, scanned Nathan with growing suspicion.
