Logan’s POV: I stare at the worn-out wooden door in front of me, its edges cracked and rusted. The birds circled in the air, breaking the silence of this desolate landscape. Rosche's rail yard was closed down in 2013 due to a construction flaw, which resulted in several injuries and deaths. Since then, no one has bothered to rebuild the site, and it is now the main area where some unlicensed activities take place. Tightly gripping my suitcase, I took a step back and kicked the door repeatedly until it finally gave way, landing with a loud thud on the ground. As I stepped on the fallen door and entered the house, dust particles flew all around me. The narrow passage was dark, with an obnoxious odor and burned cigarettes littering the filthy floor. Before someone came into view, I heard footsteps echoing through the crumbling walls. The person appeared surprised to see me, and he checked his phone before looking at me for a second as if

"Attack" "Attack" "Attack" " As I ran through the streets of New York, five men, two wearing masks and three holding bombs, chased after me, chanting the word "Attack." Hot tears streamed from my eyes, and the white sundress I was wearing was soaked in my blood, almost making the fabric appear to be dyed red. I tripped over a stone and lost my footing, landing with a loud thud on the ground. I looked helplessly back to those men standing a foot away, unable to get back on my feet in time. I closed my eyes as one of them pulled out their pistol and prepared to shoot me. I couldn't feel anything despite hearing the sound of a gunshot. There is no discomfort. My eyes opened to see a woman dead on the ground in front of me, blood trickling down from the wound in her chest caused by the bullet. I sobbed loudly while clutching the motionless figure in my trembling hands. Grecia was the one who took the bullet for me.

As the diced potatoes boiled in a saucepan, the steak sizzled in the skillet. I watch Logan as he cuts up the carrots with ease while laughing. “Seriously? “No way,” he laughed, his shoulders trembling. While he laughs, the skin around his eyes wrinkles. I nod my head, munching on a carrot while sitting on top of the kitchen counter, where he is preparing our dinner. Logan said he'd cook today's dinner after our moment on the patio, and here we are. “Yes, seriously,” I replied, laughing along with him. “For a week, no matter how hard I scrubbed, the blue paint refused to leave my body. Everyone at school made fun of me by calling me a Smurf.” He threw his head back and laughed loudly. “But I bet you were a cute Smurf,” he said as he tapped the tip of my nose, and I blushed lightly before rolling my eyes as he laughed again. We were now playing a 20-question round, and he asked about the most embarrassing moments in my life. Despite the fact that

I dragged myself to the kitchen, sluggishly. I took a carton of milk from the refrigerator and poured it into a glass. After that, I sat on the barstool in front of the countertop table. My thoughts wandered to the morning event as I stared at the milk. I haven't heard from Logan in several hours. No matter how hard I thought about it, I couldn't figure out what I did wrong to make him angry at me. All we did last night was cuddle, which was not to my liking, but I didn't mind either. I even texted Logan several times, asking what was going on, but I received no response, despite the fact that he saw all six of my messages. I sighed and gulped down the glass of milk. My phone began to vibrate in my pocket. When I took it out, my heart rate increased as I realized it was a message from Logan. He has finally decided to speak up! 'We have to talk. It's important.' What? Nervousness and fear infiltrated my body. I'm not sure what's going on, but my gut t

“Oh my goodness!” Grecia jumped up from the couch and dashed to his side. Logan groaned loudly as he wiped the blood from his lips. “Why are you up this late?” he asked, an exasperated tone in his voice. Logan changed from his morning outfit to grey joggers and a black sweatshirt, his hair was messier than usual. I got up from the couch as well, but I couldn't move any further. It felt as if an unseen force was pulling me backward. Grecia examined him by holding his face in her hands. To see his face clearly, she had to stand on her toes. Of course, he's 6ft tall, and Grecia only needs to stand on her toes to see his face; I'll need a stool for that. Logan said, "I'm fine, Ma," and took her hands off his face. Logan's lips had been slashed, and blood had congealed at the red lips' corners. His face was already starting to bruise, and there was a trail of blood running down his nose. His hands were also swollen and red. All of this points to the conclusion that he los