Logan woke slowly, as though he had been pulled up from somewhere deep. Consciousness did not come all at once; it seeped into him in fragments, each piece heavier than the last. For a while, he simply lay there, caught between sleep and awareness, unable, or unwilling to fully open his eyes. His body felt distant, like something separate from him, something he had been forced back into rather than something he inhabited willingly. Then the pain began to return. It did not strike sharply, not at first. It crept in, settling over him like a weight. His shoulders tightened, sore and stiff, then his back followed—worse, deeper, carrying a lingering burn that felt stitched into his skin. It spread slowly, deliberately, as though reminding him of everything he had endured. The memory came with it, uninvited but undeniable, and his breath faltered as his body stiffened instinctively. The dragging, the restraint, the sound of the strike before the impact. Logan’s fingers curled faint
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