Chapter 10
he door closed behind Logan with a soft, final click , firm enough to signal his absence.
Monica let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It slipped from her slowly, almost soundless, as though she were afraid even relief might be overheard.
Theo noticed.
He gave a small, comforting laugh, barely more than air. "It's always like that," he said easily. "You get used to it."
Monica smiled, though her shoulders were still settling back into place. "Really?" she asked.
Theo didn't answer right away.
He lay back against the pillows, stretching out on the bed with the quiet ease of someone completely at home in his space. The iPad remained on, balanced near his stomach, the muted glow of Nat Geo Wild lighting his face. Onscreen, wild cats moved through tall grass, their bodies low, controlled, alert.
Theo stared at the ceiling for a moment.
Silence, again but this one was softer.
Monica shifted, then sat down beside him, careful not to crowd his space. The bed dipped slightly under her weight. She glanced at the iPad, then at the robotic pieces nearby, and finally at him.
He turned onto his stomach, resting low against the bed, forearms folded beneath him. The iPad was placed in front of them now, flat on the mattress, the documentary continuing uninterrupted. A leopard crouched onscreen, eyes fixed, muscles taut.
Monica leaned back on her hands.
After a moment, she lay down too, mirroring his position, her chin resting on her forearms. Their shoulders weren't touching.. but they were close enough to feel the shared warmth of presence.
The room felt different now.
Quieter. Looser.
They watched together as the narrator spoke about distance about how predators calculated space, timing, energy. How moving too soon could ruin everything.
When the leopard lunged and missed, Theo frowned slightly.
"I think it rushed," he said.
Monica nodded. "I think so too."
They continued watching. Another scene followed lions this time, moving slowly, almost lazily, surrounding prey without alarming it.
Theo tilted his head. "Why don't they just go for it?"
Monica smiled for a moment. "Because fear travels faster than hunger," she said. "Once the prey senses danger, it's gone. So they wait until the distance feels safe enough. Until movement won't expose them."
Theo absorbed that quietly.
Onscreen, the lions attacked clean, precise.
"Sometimes, if you move before everyone's ready, it changes things. Makes people defensive."
Theo considered that, eyes never leaving the screen.
"But if you wait too long," he said slowly, "you might miss the chance."
Monica smiled. "Exactly."
They watched as another hunt unfolded this time unsuccessful. The prey escaped.
Theo sighed. "They were too far."
"Yes," Monica agreed. "The distance wasn't right yet."
He shifted slightly closer, elbows brushing hers now. It felt natural. Unforced.
"So," Theo said, " He paused, then corrected himself. "When you're studying animals. How do you know when to move?"
Monica glanced at him. "You watch patterns. Breathing. Stillness. If the animal notices you before you're ready, it's over. But if you understand the space between you" She gestured subtly between them. "then you can move without being seen."
Theo nodded slowly.
" I think that's like people," he said.
"Yes," Monica said. "Very much like people."
Monica looked at Theo again this time her gaze thoughtful. He was very smart, much more than children of his age. She bobbed her head thinking"Is this what they call people with very high IQ?"
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Logan's office was wide without trying to impress.
It occupied the quieter side of the house, far from the living spaces, built for focus rather than comfort. Two large desks stood at opposite corners of the room one mostly clear, the other in constant use. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books that had been read and reread, their spines softened with age. A standing lamp cast a steady, practical light over the main desk, where a laptop sat open amid neatly stacked files and a few loose papers that suggested a long day rather than disorder.
Logan sat at the head of the desk, shoulders squared, one hand resting near the keyboard as the other worked the mouse.
Emails.
One after another.
He scrolled.
Paused.
Scrolled again.
His brows slowly creased, the lines between them deepening with each message he opened. Nothing dramatic showed on his face,but the tension was there, unmistakable. A tightening of the jaw. A subtle stillness that came when something displeased him and he refused to react too quickly.
Another email.
Another scroll.
His mood darkened in increments. Whatever he was reading was not what he wanted. Not tonight.
Logan leaned back slightly, exhaled through his nose, then reached forward and closed the laptop rather decisively.
For a moment, he sat still.
Then he reached down and pulled open the drawer to his right.
The sound was soft, familiar.
From inside, he took out a photograph.
The woman in it was devastatingly beautiful—not in a loud way, not in a way that demanded attention, but in a way that held it without effort. She was dressed in deep emerald green, the color rich against her skin, the fabric falling simply, elegantly. Her hair framed her face softly, and she was smiling , a gentle smile that revealed dimples deep enough to echo memory.
Theo's dimples.
The resemblance was unmistakable.
Logan's gaze lingered.
The creases in his brow eased, gradually, as if they had been waiting for permission to let go. The tightness in his jaw softened. His eyes, though, told a different story filled with longing, with a love that had nowhere to go but inward.
He traced the edge of the photograph with his thumb.
She looked alive there. Present. As though she might speak if he waited long enough.
For a few seconds, the office felt warmer. Quieter. Less burdened.
Then his thoughts shifted naturally, inevitably to a small room a few corridors away. To a boy lying on a bed, watching wild cats move through darkness, learning patience without realizing it.
Logan leaned back in his chair.
He allowed himself that rare thing rest.
"Home is still the best," he murmured to himself, the words barely audible in the empty room.
Just then a gentle knock came from outside followed by a gentle elderly voice.
He slid the photograph back into the drawer and closed it gently.