The rumble of the motorcycle engine died down, echoing off the concrete walls of the underground garage. Logan sat for a moment, letting the vibrations fade from his hands, the silence of the mansion's lower levels wrapping around him. The ride with Rogue had been... good. It was simple. A small promise made, a connection made stronger.
He dismounted, his boots heavy on the floor, and made his way up the service stairs that spilled out near the kitchen.
The scent of damp earth and rich, dark roast coffee hit him before he even crossed the living room. The morning sun was streaming through the bay windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Standing by the windowsill, bathed in the light, was Ororo.
She wasn't wearing her uniform. She was dressed in casual, earth-toned linens that draped elegantly over her frame, her white hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of silk. She was tending to a row of exotic orchids, a small spray bottle in her hand. She didn't turn as he walked in; her connection to the atmosphere likely told her exactly who was there by the displacement of air alone.
"Coffee is on the counter, Logan," she said, her voice a calm, melodic contralto. "Black. Two sugars. Just the way you pretend not to like it."
Logan smirked, the expression tugging at the corner of his mouth. He walked over to the pot, pouring the steaming liquid into a mug. "I don't pretend anything, 'Ro. I just like to keep you guessing."
"Please," she scoffed softly, misting the leaves of a particularly vibrant purple orchid. "You are about as mysterious as a thunderstorm. Loud, dangerous, and to some scary."
Logan leaned his hip against the counter, taking a sip. The coffee was perfect. It always was. "Thunderstorm, huh? I thought I was more of a... hurricane. A bit more destructive."
Ororo finally turned, a playful glint in her ice-blue eyes. She looked him up and down—the leather jacket, the wind-mussed hair, the rugged stance. "A hurricane has a center of calm, Logan. I am not sure you have found yours yet. Though..." She tilted her head slightly. "You are quieter these days. Less... turbulent."
Logan held her gaze over the rim of his mug. The chemistry between them had always been there, a low-voltage hum of static electricity. But since the merge, since Liam's consciousness had stabilized the Wolverine's instincts, the dynamic had shifted. It wasn't just raw attraction anymore, to him it felt natural, like she was someone that mattered more than most others.
"Maybe I just like the company better," Logan drawled, his voice dropping a smooth octave.
Ororo smiled, a genuine, warm expression that crinkled the corners of her eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Wolverine. But it is appreciated." She set the spray bottle down and wiped her hands on a towel. "I am heading out shortly. My nephew, Evan, has a basketball game at Bayville High. It is the semi-finals."
Logan checked the heavy watch on his wrist. "I've got a couple of hours before I need to put the elf and the half-pint through the wringer. You driving?"
Ororo paused, looking at him with mild surprise. "Are you offering to accompany me?"
"Unless you've got a hot date you're hiding," Logan shrugged. "figured you could use some protection from the soccer moms. They can be vicious."
Ororo laughed, a sound like wind chimes. "I would be delighted to have the company. And no, no hot date. Just family."
They took one of the Professor's sedans, a sleek, understated black car that smelled of leather and lemon polish. Logan drove, his hands relaxed on the wheel, while Ororo navigated the radio dial until she found a jazz station she liked.
The drive was easy. They talked about the students, about the new curriculum Charles was pushing, about the weather patterns Ororo was sensing over the Atlantic. It was domestic, normal. For a man with a countdown clock ticking in his head and memories of two lifetimes bleeding together, 'normal' was the greatest luxury in the world.
When they arrived at the high school gym, the parking lot was already packed. Logan parked the car with surgical precision between a minivan and a pickup truck.
As they walked toward the entrance, a woman waved frantically from near the ticket booth. She bore a striking resemblance to Ororo, though her hair was dark and styled in a short, practical cut. Beside her stood a tall, broad-shouldered man in a business casual polo.
"Ororo! Over here!"
"That is my sister, Vivian," Ororo whispered to Logan as they approached. "And her husband, David. Be nice."
"I'm always nice," Logan grunted.
"Vivian!" Ororo embraced her sister warmly, the two women exchanging quick kisses on the cheek. "It is so good to see you."
"You too, 'Ro," Vivian said, pulling back to look at her. Then, her eyes slid to Logan. They widened slightly, taking in the sheer physical presence of the man. "And who is this? You didn't tell me you were bringing someone."
"This is Logan," Ororo introduced, gesturing gracefully. "He is a colleague from the Institute. He teaches history and... physical education."
"Logan," the husband, David, stepped forward with a firm hand extended. "Nice to meet you. Good to have another guy around. Usually, I'm outnumbered by the Monroe women."
Logan shook the man's hand. His grip was firm but controlled; he was always careful not to crush normal bones. "David. Good to meet you. Heard your boy's got a game today."
"Yeah, Evan's been killing it this season," David beamed, falling into step with Logan as they walked toward the bleachers. "Scout from Empire State is supposed to be here. Kid's got a jump shot like you wouldn't believe. You follow basketball?"
"I watch a bit," Logan lied smoothly. Liam had watched basketball; Wolverine had spent most of the last few decades fighting or running. But the knowledge was there. "Knicks need to fix their defense if they want a shot this year."
David laughed, slapping Logan on the shoulder. "Don't get me started on the Knicks! Man, finally someone who speaks my language. Come on, let's grab seats."
Behind them, Vivian looped her arm through Ororo's, leaning in close.
"Colleague, huh?" Vivian teased, raising an eyebrow. "He's... intense, Ororo. Very handsome, in a 'dangerous drifter' sort of way. Is there something going on?"
Ororo scoffed, adjusting her scarf. "Don't be ridiculous, Viv. Logan and I are just friends. We work together. That is all."
"Mmm-hmm," Vivian hummed skeptically. "I know you, sister. You're different around him. You're... looser. Smiling more. Usually, you're all 'Goddess of the Storm' posture, but look at you."
Ororo frowned, though a blush threatened to color her cheeks. "I am always relaxed."
Vivian glanced ahead at the men. Logan was laughing at something David said—a rough, gravelly chuckle that seemed to vibrate the air.
"Well," Vivian sighed, her voice dropping to a more serious whisper. "It is good that you don't feel anything for him. Truly."
Ororo looked at her sharply. "Why do you say that?"
Vivian gave her a pointed, somewhat sad look. "Because we both know what's waiting for you, Ororo. In a few years. The arrangement." She didn't say the name, nor did she mention anything else, but the weight of the implication hung heavy between them. "You have a destiny. A kingdom. Your Prince isn't exactly the type to share."
Ororo stiffened, her gaze snapping forward. "That is... complicated. And far away. Let us just enjoy the game, Vivian."
They reached the bleachers and sat down. The gym was a cacophony of squeaking sneakers, shouting referees, and cheering parents. The smell of floor wax and teenage sweat was pungent.
Logan sat next to Ororo, his thigh brushing against hers in the cramped space. He didn't pull away. Neither did she.
While David explained the team's season stats to Logan, Ororo found herself tuning out her sister and watching the man beside her.
She remembered the day he had returned to the mansion three weeks ago. She remembered the man he had been two years prior. Back then, Logan was a raw nerve ending. He was angry at the world, lost in his own amnesia, lashing out like a wounded animal. He had flirted with her then, too, but it had been aggressive, almost desperate—a way to prove he was alive. He constantly butted heads with Scott, undermined Charles, and treated the mansion like a temporary cage.
But this Logan...
She watched him nod as David complained about his lawn mower. Logan looked interested, offering advice on spark plugs. He was grounded. There was a stillness in him that hadn't been there before. He was patient with the children—she had seen the way he guided Kitty, the way he protected Rogue. He still had that edge, that dangerous spark, but it was tempered by something deeper. Something more human than the animal.
Do I really act different when i'm with you, Ororo thought, staring at his smiling face as David jumped with excitement beside him.
She felt a warmth bloom in her chest that had nothing to do with the stuffy gym. It was dangerous. Vivian was right. Her path had been laid out since she was a child in Kenya, intertwined with the life of another country. But sitting here, with his arm pressing warm against hers, the future felt very far away, and the man with the adamantium claws felt very real.
A sharp whistle blew, snapping her out of her reverie.
"Tip-off!" David cheered.
The game was intense. Bayville High was playing hard. Ororo quickly spotted Evan—number 12. He was fast, incredibly agile for his age. He moved across the court with a fluid grace that hinted at his genetic potential.
Logan watched the game with calm but alert eyes. He wasn't just watching the ball he was waiting to see Spykes mutation.
At one point, his gaze locked onto a figure near the opposing team's bench. A teenager with silver hair. For a split second, Logan's heart hammered—Quicksilver? His claws twitched in his pockets.
Calm down, Logan chided himself. The countdown is making you jumpy.
The game went down to the wire. Fourth quarter. Ten seconds left on the clock. Bayville was down by two points.
"Give it to Daniels!" David screamed, cuping his hands around his mouth.
The point guard passed the ball to Evan. He was trapped near the half-court line, two defenders closing in on him.
"Come on!" Logan growled under his breath.
Evan looked at the clock. Three seconds. Two.
He couldn't drive to the basket. He had to take the shot from nearly fifty feet out.
Evan bent his knees and launched himself into the air. It was a beautiful jump, high and perfect. He released the ball just as the buzzer sounded.
But as he was in the air, a player from the opposing team—a linebacker of a kid—came rushing in too late. He slammed into Evan's midsection with illegal force.
It happened in slow motion for Logan and Storm.
The ball sailed through the air, a perfect arc.
Evan was knocked backward, his balance shattered. He hit the polished wood floor hard, sliding backward with incredible momentum.
SCHLICK.
It was a sound only Logan heard. A wet, tearing sound.
As Evan slid backward, his hands instinctively went to the floor to stop his momentum. But instead of palms slapping wood, something else happened.
From the skin of Evan's forearms and elbows, jagged, bone-white spikes erupted. They tore through his skin.
SKREEEEEEEEE!
The spikes dug into the hardwood floor like anchors. Evan skidded to a halt, carving four deep, inch-thick trenches into the court, ripping up the varnish and the wood.
The ball swished through the net.
The buzzer blared.
"HE SCORED! WE WON!" David screamed, jumping up and hugging Vivian.
The entire gymnasium erupted into chaos. Parents were screaming, cheerleaders were jumping, and the team was rushing toward Evan.
But Evan wasn't celebrating.
Logan saw the panic in the kid's eyes. Evan sat there on the floor, staring at his arms . He quickly scrambled backward, retracting the bone spikes with a wince of pain before anyone could get close. He was able to hide them thanks to the quickly healing wounds.
He looked up, terrified that someone had seen.
Most people were looking at the scoreboard. But two people were looking right at him.
Logan stood still, his face grim. He had seen the trenches. He had seen the bone.
Storm stood beside him, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. She had seen it too. He always told her before that there was no issue with his control over his abilities.
"Did you see that?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the cheering crowd.
"Yeah," Logan murmured, his eyes locked on the boy who was now being hoisted onto the shoulders of his oblivious teammates. "I saw it."
Evan looked over at the bleachers, his eyes meeting his aunt's, then locking onto Logan's. He knew they saw him but fortunately no one else did.
"Looks like the family reunion just got complicated," Logan said quietly.
David turned to them, face flushed with victory. "Did you see that shot?! From downtown! That's my boy!"
"Incredible," Ororo managed to say, her voice trembling slightly. She forced a smile, but her hand found Logan's arm, gripping it tightly for support. "It was... truly incredible."
Logan didn't smile. He watched the deep gouges in the floorboards as the crowd rushed the court, trampling over the evidence of a new mutant entering the world.
"We need to talk to him," Logan whispered to her. "Before he runs."
Ororo nodded, her regal composure returning as she shifted into protector mode. "Yes...Please Logan leave it to me."
Logan looked at her in confusion. " You sure. Ro I can help". He told her sincerely, she smiled at his care. " I'll be fine Logan, he is my nephew after all".
Nodding his head Logan waited for the celebration to end to head out but just then, David Daniels came jogging up the bleacher steps, beaming with the kind of oblivious pride only a father could possess. He clapped a heavy hand on Logan's shoulder.
"Did you see that?!" David practically shouted, shaking his head in disbelief. "From downtown! My boy's got an arm like a cannon! That scout from Empire State was definitely taking notes."
"Yeah," Logan forced a grin, as if to forget what he had actually seen. "He's got a gift, David. That was one hell of a shot."
"Hey, listen," David said, gesturing toward the exit. "Vivian and I are gonna fire up the grill back at the house. Celebrate the win properly. I got some T-bones with our names on them, and the Knicks game starts at 8. You gotta join us, Logan. We need to finish that conversation about the defensive lineup."
The offer was genuine, warm, and painfully normal. It was exactly the kind of life Evan was about to lose.
Logan shook his head, feigning regret. "I appreciate it, bub, really. Steaks sound perfect. But I've got a class to teach back at the Institute in about forty-five minutes. Physical Education waits for no man."
David's face fell slightly, but he nodded understandingly. "Ah, work calls. I get it. Teachers never really clock out, do they?"
"Not really," Logan agreed. "But tell you what—I'll finish up with the runts, and I'll swing by after. Send the address and time to Ororo."
"You got it!" David pointed a finger at him. "Don't bail on me. I need backup against Vivian's potato salad."
Logan:" If it's anything like Ro's potato salad we're gonna need all the help we can get".
David laughed" my man". He said patting Logan on the back, then Logan turned to Storm. "You need the car?"
"No," Ororo replied, adjusting her purse. "I will ride with Vivian and David. It will give me a chance to speak with Evan...And don't worry, i'll be sure to make enough potato salad to fill both your stomachs"
David and Logan both gulped nervously seeing the threatning look in her and Vivians eyes.
"Alright." Logan dangled the keys on his finger. "Good luck, 'Ro."
He turned and walked away, the sounds of the happy family fading behind him. As he exited the gym and stepped into the cool afternoon air, the weight of the secret settled on his shoulders. He climbed into the Professor's black sedan, the leather seat creaking under his weight.
As he started the engine, his eyes drifted to the rearview mirror. Three days, twenty-one hours, he thought, the mental countdown ticking away in the back of his mind. He didn't know what was waiting at zero, but he knew the world wasn't slowing down to let him figure it out.
The drive back to the Institute was quiet, the road passing in a blur of green and asphalt. When Logan arrived, the mansion was bathed in the golden hue of the late afternoon sun. It looked peaceful, a sanctuary amidst a world that was getting louder and more dangerous by the day.
He parked the car in the garage, swapping the sedan keys for his own set, and headed inside. The silence of the halls was broken only by the distant sound of the television in the rec room. He made his way upstairs to his quarters.
He stripped off the civilian clothes—the jeans and jacket feeling too restrictive for what came next. He pulled on a loose-fitting white kung fu gi and tied the black belt with a sharp snap. It was a remnant of his memories, a discipline from a time in Japan he could vividly recall, mixed with Liam's appreciation for the mobility it offered.
He walked downstairs, barefoot, his steps silent on the hardwood. As he passed the foyer, he could hear voices. Scott and Rogue.
"No, Rogue, you have to project!" Scott's voice was strained. "It's Romeo and Juliet, not a whisper contest."
"I am projecting!" Rogue shot back, her voice thick with irritation. "Maybe you're just deaf, Summers!"
Logan smirked. At least some things were normal.
He headed out the back patio doors onto the sprawling lawn that bordered the woods. The air was fresh, smelling of pine and cut grass. He took a deep breath, centering himself.
"Logan!"
"Herr Logan!"
He turned to see Kitty Pryde and Kurt Wagner rushing toward him from the gardens. They were dressed in their X-Men training uniforms—blue and gold spandex that looked a little too big on their teenage frames. They were grinning, full of boundless energy.
"We saw you pull up!" Kitty chirped, bouncing on her toes. "Are we doing combat drills today? Or agility? Please say agility, I don't want bruises today."
"I am ready for anything!" Kurt announced, striking a dramatic pose, his tail swaying behind him.
Logan chuckled, reaching down into the grass near the patio steps. He picked up an oval-shaped football he had left there earlier.
"A little bit of both," Logan said, tossing the ball in his hands. He looked at Kitty. "Today's lesson is simple. Evasion and pursuit."
He tossed the football to Kitty. She caught it against her chest, looking confused.
"Keep the ball away from the elf," Logan commanded, jerking a thumb at Kurt. "You can phase, run, climb, whatever you want. Just don't let him touch you or the ball. Kurt, your job is to get it back."
Kurt grinned, his yellow eyes flashing. "This will be easy."
"Hey!" Kitty protested.
"I'm giving you a ten-second head start," Logan added, crossing his arms. "Go."
Kitty didn't hesitate. She clutched the ball and sprinted toward the treeline. "You'll never catch me, fuzzball!"
"One... two... three..." Logan counted calmly, watching her weave through the garden.
Kurt crouched, his tail twitching in anticipation.
"Ten."
BAMF.
The smell of brimstone filled the air as Kurt vanished in a cloud of purple smoke.
Logan jogged after them, keeping pace effortlessly. He watched as Kitty phased through a large oak tree just as Kurt appeared on the other side, his hands grasping empty air.
"Too slow!" Kitty laughed, emerging from the bark and sprinting deeper into the woods.
BAMF. Kurt appeared ten feet in front of her, hanging upside down from a branch. "Guten tag!"
Kitty squealed and phased through the ground, popping up five yards away.
Logan leaned against a tree trunk, watching them. A genuine smile touched his lips. This was what he was fighting for. This joy. This freedom. They were learning to use their powers not just for war, but for themselves. It was a good moment.
"Ah, Logan. There you are."
The calm voice of Professor Xavier drifted into his mind before he heard the hum of the hover-chair.
Logan turned to see Charles gliding over the grass. The Professor looked serene, his hands folded in his lap.
"Good afternoon, Chuck," Logan said, keeping one eye on the teleporting blue blur in the distance. "Just running the runts through their paces."
"I see that," Xavier smiled, watching Kurt teleport rapidly around a confused Kitty. "It is good that I caught you. I need to discuss a few matters regarding the curriculum."
"Can it wait?" Logan asked, nodding toward the house. "Or is it about the play?"
"Partially," Xavier admitted. "Scott and Rogue are practicing in the foyer. It is... going as well as can be expected. I believe Rogue could use some encouragement. She respects you, Logan. Perhaps later you could—"
"Nice move, Kitty!" Logan suddenly shouted, interrupting the Professor.
In the distance, Kitty had just phased through a bush, leaving Kurt tangled in the branches.
"Thanks, Logan!" Kitty called back, beaming at the praise. She turned her head to look at him, losing focus on her path for a split second.
THWACK.
She ran face-first into a low-hanging tree branch.
"Oof!"
The impact knocked the wind out of her. She stumbled backward, tripping over her own feet, and the football flew out of her hands, arcing high into the air.
"Got it!" Kurt shouted.
BAMF.
Kurt teleported into the air, snatching the ball at the apex of its flight. He vanished again before he hit the ground and reappeared perched high on a thick branch of a maple tree, looking down at Kitty with a triumphant grin.
"I win!" Kurt crowed, spinning the ball on his finger. "Victory is mine!"
Kitty rubbed her forehead, glaring up at him. "That doesn't count! I was distracted! Give it back, you bluecheater!"
"Finders keepers, fraulein!" Kurt teased.
Logan walked closer, shielding his eyes from the sun to look up at the tree. "Hey, elf! Watch where you're porting. That wood looks rotted."
"It is perfectly safe!" Kurt shouted back, bouncing slightly on the branch. "See? Strong as—"
CRAAAACK.
The sound was like a gunshot. The branch, dead and dry, snapped cleanly under Kurt's weight.
"Scheiße!"
Kurt plummeted. He flailed, trying to teleport, but panic delayed his reaction. He hit the ground face-first with a dull thud, the football bouncing away.
Kitty, seeing her chance, leaped over a log. She laughed, snatched the ball from the grass, and for good measure, grabbed the tip of Kurt's tail as she ran past.
"Yoink!" she giggled. "My ball!"
Kurt groaned into the dirt, lifting his head to spit out a blade of grass. He growled in frustration, his ears drooping.
Logan slapped his hand over his face, shaking his head. "What kind of move was that? I teach you tactical evasion, and you guys turn it into a blooper reel."
Charles chuckled softly beside him. "Innovation comes in many forms, Logan. Quick thinking on Kitty's part to capitalize on the... unexpected environmental failure."
"Yeah, well," Logan grunted, "gravity ain't exactly a supervillain, but it's kicking their ass."
"They are young," Charles said, his voice warm. "They have time to learn. And with you guiding them, I have no dou—"
Suddenly, Charles stopped.
The smile vanished from the Professor's face instantly. His body went rigid in the chair. His hands flew to his temples, his fingers digging into his scalp as a gasp of pure pain escaped his lips.
"Gah!"
"Charles?" Logan turned, his instincts flaring. The relaxed atmosphere shattered in a heartbeat. "What is it?"
Charles didn't answer immediately. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face pale. A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. The psychic backlash was rolling off him in waves that even Logan, with his limited sensitivity, could feel as a pressure in the air.
"Jean..." Charles whispered, his voice strained and desperate. "Jean... hold on... do not panic!"
The name hit Logan like a physical blow.
"Jean?" Logan stepped closer, gripping the arm of the hover-chair. "Professor, what's happening? Where is she?"
Charles opened his eyes. They were wide, filled with a horror that chilled Logan to the bone.
"She has been taken," Charles said, his voice trembling. "Her mind... it cried out in terror, and then... silence. Someone has taken her."
The world seemed to freeze. The birds stopped singing. The wind stopped blowing. The laughter from Kitty and Kurt died in Logan's ears.
Jean.
He remembered her laugh at the stadium yesterday. The way she looked in that pink cowboy hat. The kiss on his cheek. The promise of a normal life.
And then, the heat came.
It wasn't a slow burn. It was an explosion. A furnace ignited in the center of Logan's chest, burning hot enough to melt steel. The countdown clock in his mind didn't just tick; it screamed. The barrier between Liam and the Wolverine dissolved instantly, burned away by a rage so pure, so ancient, that it felt like drowning in lava.
Logan's lips curled back, exposing his teeth. A low, vibrating growl started in his diaphragm and rose into a roar.
His eyes, usually a dark, earthy brown, flooded with color. They glowed a piercing, luminous yellow, shining like high beams in the darkening afternoon.
He spun around to face the woods.
"KURT!" Logan roared. The sound was terrifying, causing the birds in the trees to take flight in a panicked flock.
Kurt and Kitty froze, the football forgotten. They looked at Logan, and saw the anger on his face .
"GET CYCLOPS!" Logan barked, his voice ragged with fury. "TELL HIM JEAN'S BEEN TAKEN! TELL HIM TO SUIT UP! NOW!"
Kurt didn't ask questions. He didn't make a joke. He saw the look in Logan's eyes and felt the terror of the situation.
BAMF.
Kurt vanished instantly, heading for the house. Kitty ran over to them about to ask Logan what had happened but Logan didn't wait. He didn't ask Charles for coordinates. He didn't ask for permission.
He turned and sprinted toward the mansion. He didn't run like a man; he ran like a wolf, low to the ground, his arms pumping, covering ground with a speed that tore up the turf beneath his bare feet.
Kitty: "Professor what happened ? "
Charles:" Jeans been taken my dear "
Kitty looked down wanting to help she sprinted after Logan. Meanwhile with our Wolverine he burst through the back doors, ignoring the startled cry of Rogue as he blurred past the foyer and up the stairs.
Three stairs at a time.
He slammed into his room, ripping the gi off his body before the door even closed. He didn't bother with the intricate buckles of the standard uniform. He grabbed the Kevlar-weave suit he had been modifying. Black tactical pants. The heavy boots. The black tank top. The leather jacket.
He strapped his belt on, the leather creaking under the force of his pull.
Taken!
The thought repeated in his mind, a mantra of violence.
She was taken !
He grabbed his helmet, vaulted over the railing of the second-floor landing, and landed in a crouch on the ground floor, the impact cracking a floor tile. He sprinted for the garage.
The lights flickered on as he entered. He ignored the X-Van. He ignored the sleek sedans.
He went straight to his bike.
He threw a leg over the saddle, keyed the ignition, and the engine roared to life—a mechanical echo of his own rage. He didn't wait for the garage door to fully open. As soon as there was enough clearance, he dumped the clutch.
The rear tire shrieked, smoking against the concrete, and the bike shot forward like a missile.
He ducked under the rising door, the metal scraping the top of his helmet, and tore down the driveway. He hit the main road without slowing down, the speedometer climbing past 80, 90, 100.
The wind whipped at his jacket, but he didn't feel it. He didn't feel the cold. He only felt the fire.
"Hold on, Red," he growled into the wind, his yellow eyes fixed on the horizon, hunting. "I'm coming."
Stay safe, Jean. I'll be there soon !