Page 34 of Bound By Thorns

“Logan?”

I froze. His hand landed gently on my shoulder, grounding me as he stepped in front of me, blocking my retreat.

“What do you need, Ghost?” I asked, my voice tight.

“Zarek,” he said, his tone firm but calm. “Or Zar. Take your pick, Logan. I’m not Ghost right now.”

I gave a half-hearted chuckle, shaking my head at his insistence.

“When was the last time you properly slept?” he asked, his voice softer now.

Good question.

My throat tightened as I forced the words out. “I’m not sure. A few days ago?”

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes assessing me like he was scanning for every crack I tried to hide.

“Dr. Stacey’s downstairs in the bay. Go see him.”

I snorted bitterly. “You want a traumatized man prone to dissociative psychotic episodes to get his hands on sleeping pills? Sounds like a great idea.”

Zarek didn’t flinch. His steady gaze held mine, unrelenting. “Logan, sleep,” he said quietly, but there was no mistaking the command in his tone. “Please. Sleep, brother.”

The sincerity in his voice scraped against something raw in me, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. My throat worked overtime, but no words came.

As he turned to leave, I blurted out, “Leo said something, didn’t she?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. His expression softened, the edges of his usual sharp demeanor fading just slightly. “Yeah,” he said, his voice dropping lower, more deliberate.

“You were destroyed there, Logan. And if you don’t heal from it, that destruction has to go somewhere—and it’ll take the people you love down with it.”

The words hit like a gut punch, stealing the air from my lungs. Brutal. True. My chest tightened as I absorbed the weight of them. I was going to destroy everything, wasn’t I? Myself. Kaylan. My squad.

Zarek gave me a long look, his eyes filled with understanding but no pity.

And then he was gone, leaving me standing there with nothing but the echo of his words and the overwhelming realization that maybe… just maybe… I couldn’t keep fighting this war within myself alone.

The bay was quiet when I stepped in, the faint buzz of fluorescent lights the only sound. It felt colder than I remembered, the sterile air seeping into my skin. For a moment, I hesitated, my hand resting against the frame of the door.

“Logan,” Dr. Stacey called out, his voice calm but firm. He was at the counter, organizing a tray of supplies.

I nodded once, stepping further into the room. “Zar sent me,” I muttered, the words awkward on my tongue.

“I figured he might,” Stacey said, setting the tray aside and motioning for me to follow him. “Come on. Let’s figure this out.”

I followed him down the short hallway to the infirmary, where the brightness of the overhead lights stung my tired eyes. He gestured for me to sit on one of the pristine beds and pulled up a stool, settling across from me.

“Zarek said you haven’t slept in a few days,” he started, leaning forward slightly. “That right?”

I shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “Something like that.”

Stacey let out a soft sigh, his tone laced with patience. “Logan, this isn’t sustainable. Sleep deprivation like this doesn’t just make you tired—it screws with your ability to think, your emotional regulation. For someone in your position, it’s a slippery slope to a full psychotic break. You know that, you had one.”

I didn’t answer, my jaw tightening as I stared at the floor.

He let the silence linger for a beat before standing and moving to the cabinet. He pulled out a small vial and a syringe, inspecting it carefully before turning back to me.

“This is Lorazepam in a single high-dose injection,” he said. “It’s not a long-term solution, but it’s used for extreme cases like yours—patients who need a hard reset. You’ll sleep for at least 30 hours, uninterrupted.”

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