CHAPTER 133: THE THUNDERING RAGE

She froze.

Not his voice.

It was familiar. It was... someone she knows.

But her eyes... tricked by the haze... saw only a monster.

A grotesque shadow looming over her.

"Don’t come near me!" she shrieked, crawling backward, fingernails scraping the pavement.

"Jean, it’s me! You’re drunk, oh my God did someone drug you?... you shouldn’t be out alone like this," the voice said, desperate. "Wait here, I’m calling someone. Don’t move!"

She didn’t wait.

She didn’t trust monsters.

The moment he was gone, she dragged herself up, barefoot and shaking. Her knees were bruised, her lips cracked, but she walked. Through the empty streets, under a sky too cruel to hold stars.

She walked until she saw it.

A hospital.

A chance at survival.

She climbed the steps, each one ripping through her muscles like knives. But just as she reached the entrance, her legs failed her.

Again.

The last thing she heard before everything went dark again...

"Jean!"

That voice... again?

Had he followed her?

Or had Tyler come back to finish what he started?

"Jean, wake up."

She gasped awake, eyes shooting open.

White ceiling.

Wires in her skin.

The beep of machines.

She was no longer in the past.

A warm hand was holding hers. Gentle. Real.

"Thank God," a voice whispered, choked and full of breath. "Thank God you opened your eyes."

Her gaze shifted.

"Logan?" she whispered, throat raw.

His eyes were red rimmed. Jaw clenched. But his grip on her hand didn’t loosen.

"I’m here," he said, softer than she had ever heard him. "You’re safe now."

_____________________________

Few moments earlier...

Silence.

The kind that comes right before a hurricane.

A heavy weight dropped into Logan’s chest as if the air had turned to iron. His grip on the phone tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. He didn’t speak for a second, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe.

Then he moved.

His chair screeched backward, crashing into the marble wall with a thunderous slam. He was already moving, fast, lethal... like a beast just released from its cage.

"Hannah. Listen to me carefully," he said, his voice low but terrifyingly calm... too calm. "Take her to Crestwood Private Hospital. Do not stop anywhere else. Keep her awake. Keep talking to her. I’m on my way."

"But Logan... she’s... she’s losing consciousness."

"THEN KEEP HER AWAKE!" he roared into the phone, raw panic ripping through his tone. "Don’t let her go under. Not until I get there."

"Okay. Okay!"

He ended the call and stood frozen for a second.

Just one second.

Just long enough for the images to rush into his mind.

Jean.

His wife... surrounded by flames.

Jean... pushed into fire by her own brother.

Jean... crying, burning, breaking.

No.

His vision blurred with red. Rage thundered in his chest so loudly it hurt. His fists clenched at his sides, trembling with a need to destroy.

If anything happened to her...

If he got to that hospital and she was broken, unrecognizable, gone...

He would make sure the entire Adams estate burned to the ground.

He would hunt Alex down himself.

No mercy.

He stormed out of his office, eyes blank, mind only filled with one name.

Jean.

He was coming.

And nothing... not blood, not fire, not even God... would stand in his way.

The car hadn’t even come to a full stop before Logan threw the door open and jumped out.

He didn’t wait for security.

Didn’t wait for his driver.

Didn’t wait for protocol.

He sprinted through the hospital doors like a man possessed, rage and terror knotted so tightly inside his chest it was hard to breathe. His shoes echoed down the sterile hallways as he stormed past the reception. He didn’t need to ask where Jean was.

He already knows where the VIP ward is.

Every step toward her room was a battle against the storm inside him. His fists stayed clenched by his sides, nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. His suit jacket flapped behind him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t feel the chill. He didn’t feel anything.

Not until he reached the door.

Not until he saw her.

And then... he stopped breathing.

Jean lay in the hospital bed, pale and far too still, her body swallowed by the white sheets. An IV dripped into her wrist, tubes and monitors surrounded her, beeping quietly... but the sound was distant. Muffled.

Logan’s world had gone silent.

He stood at the threshold like a ghost, unable to take another step. His heart was pounding like war drums inside his chest, but the moment his eyes locked on her bandaged arm... he crumbled.

Her sleeves were burned through.

Red, angry marks decorated her skin where fire had kissed her.

Her hand... the one he’d held so many times... was covered in gauze.

And her face... God.

That face he had memorized like scripture was bruised, her lips dry, and her eyes shut tight as if trapped in some nightmare.

He took one step inside. Then another.

His knees almost buckled.

Carefully, reverently, he lowered himself into the chair beside her, one hand reaching out to brush her fingers... trembling.

"Jean..." His voice cracked, barely a whisper. "I’m here..."

No response.

Just the machines.

Just the weight of everything he’d failed to protect.

He clenched his jaw, trying to keep the tears back. But he couldn’t. His head dipped, forehead pressing gently against her hand as his shoulders shook.

His fingers curled around hers, as gently as he could, terrified of causing her more pain.

"I’ll kill him," Logan swore in a whisper, hot tears slipping down his cheeks. "I swear to God, Jean. I will make him pay. I’ll burn the world if I have to. But you..." His voice cracked again, "You have to come back to me. Please."

He couldn’t.

His world was this... her, broken, silent, and clinging to life.

And until she opened her eyes...

Nothing else mattered.

And then, as if she heard his please... her eyes opened.