Logan Frost's Mysterious Identity

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When Mia finally stirred, the room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a nearby lamp. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the darkness as she tried to make sense of her surroundings.

She was home, her own bed, the familiar scent of the room, and the quiet hum of the city beyond the window. Slowly, she turned her head, and her gaze fell on Logan.

He was beside her, slumped over the edge of the bed, his head resting on the mattress. Even in sleep, his face was tense, as if he had been carrying a burden too heavy for one man alone.

His brows were furrowed, his breathing steady but deep, and Mia could tell just how exhausted he was.

Her heart clenched as she watched him. There had always been something about Logan that had drawn her in, even before she could fully remember who he was.

Now, though, things were different. In the haze of her dreams, fragments of their past had begun to come back to her, flashes of laughter, quiet moments together, the warmth of his arms around her. And then,