Page 65 of Logan’s Way

“Derek Walsh won’t bother Lena Torres again. That’s what you came here to know, right? Whether she’s safe. She is. And if another situation like hers comes across your desk—when another situation comes—I’ll still be out here filling gaps the system can’t fill. You don’t have to approve. You don’t have to help. Just … let me keep doing what I’m doing.”

Angus watched his brother walk away, watched him disappear into the trees that hid his exit, watched the space where Logan had stood become empty again. And he understood with clarity that washed over him like cold water: Loving Logan didn’t mean following him. Didn’t mean endorsing his choices or abandoning faith in service of outcomes. It meant carrying the grief of separation while trusting that God’s grace was sufficient even when human love proved insufficient.

The burned building stood as evidence of sacrifice—destroyed deliberately to prevent exposure, loss accepted as the cost of protection. Logan’s whole life had become that structure, demolished piece by piece so the work could continue, identity sacrificed to maintain invisibility, connection abandoned so strangers could be saved.

And Angus stood in the ash, recognizing that he couldn’t rebuild what Logan had chosen to burn. Couldn’t offer redemption Logan wouldn’t accept. Couldn’t save someone who believed salvation came through works rather than grace.

Six years ago when Angus had faced death in this place, he’d been the victim needing rescue, the man handcuffed and helpless while someone who’d decided to operate outside the law prepared to execute him. Now, in the same space he’d confronted his brother about the cost of being the rescuer instead of waiting for rescue to come through proper channels.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. Neither was the grief.

He walked back to his truck, the smell of burnt wood still clinging to the cold air, his brother vanished again into invisibility that had protected him for eighteen years, and the understanding settling into his chest that reunion wasn’t possible when one brother chose presence and the other chose sacrifice that required absence.

Scout would be waiting at home. Murphy would call eventually, asking questions Angus couldn’t fully answer. The investigation into his suspension would continue, deciding whether he could return to duty under supervision that would prevent him from acting outside the boundaries of the law.

And Logan would remain out there somewhere, filling gaps, saving lives, believing his works were his passport to heaven, even while those works cost him everything that made heaven worth wanting.

Angus started his truck and drove away—from deliberate destruction, from his brother’s refusal, from the conversation that hadn’t changed anything except making visible what had always been true: Some people choose paths that lead away from grace not because grace isn’t available, but because accepting it requires a submission they aren’t willing to give.

And loving them meant watching them walk that path while trusting that God’s mercy was larger than human understanding, that the door remained open even when those you loved refused to walk through it, that faith sometimes looked like standing at burned buildings recognizing you couldn’t save someone who’d convinced themselves they were beyond saving.

The grief was quiet. Devastating. Unresolved.

But it was also revelatory. Because Angus now understood exactly what Logan’s way cost. And the realization was absolute:

He would not follow it.

No matter what that refusal cost him.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The drive back to Weyport passed in silence Angus didn’t try to fill. He kept the radio off, the windows up, his hands steady on the wheel while his mind circled the same territory without landing anywhere that felt like solid ground.

Logan was alive.

Logan had refused to come home.

Logan believed his works would save him.

And Angus had watched him walk away into trees that might hide him for another eighteen years—maybe longer, maybe forever.

The facts repeated themselves, each pass through the sequence leaving him more exhausted than the last. By the time he pulled into his driveway, the winter sun had climbed high enough to cast sharp shadows across frozen ground—ordinary light on an ordinary day that no longer felt like the one he’d started.

Scout met him at the door, his furry tail wagging with the uncomplicated joy of reunion that humans couldn’t manage. Angus knelt and let the dog wiggle against him, warm and solid and present in ways his brother had chosen not to be.

“Hey, boy,” he said quietly, his hand moving through Scout’s brown and white fur. “I found him. But I didn’t get him back.”

The dog didn’t understand the words but responded to tone, pressing closer, offering comfort that required no explanation and demanded no performance. Angus stayed there longer than necessary, letting the ordinary ritual of greeting ground him in the present.

When he finally stood and moved into the house, everything looked exactly as he’d left it. The Logan investigation files were still hidden in his bedroom closet behind storage boxes. The mug he’d used yesterday morning still sat on the kitchen counter. The heating system still cycled on and off with the same mechanical rhythm it had maintained for years.

Nothing had changed except for the knowledge he now carried.

He fed Scout, filled the water bowl, checked that the back door was secure—small domestic tasks that required attention without demanding decisions about things that couldn’t be fixed. When those tasks ran out, he stood in the kitchen staring at nothing until his phone vibrated against the counter where he’d left it.

Murphy. Three missed calls. Two voicemails. One text: Call me when you can. Worried.

He should call her. Should explain where he’d been, what he’d learned, how the brother he’d been searching for had been found and lost in the same conversation. Should let her offer the support she’d been offering since this investigation began.