Logan sat in the bottom of Ramos' closet. The smell of his shoes, his clothes, and the darkness were all reassuring to him. It was also the only hiding place he could think of where he stood a reasonable chance of remaining hidden if someone came to the house and broke down the front door.

His heart rate hadn't slowed since receiving that text from Julio. Every decision he had made over the last year suddenly seemed like a terrible idea. He'd always known what Julio was capable of, but somehow he'd convinced himself that it would never come to this. Even if the worst happened and Julio was arrested, things would still be okay as long as he kept his mouth shut. He hadn't imagined that ending him was Julio's plan all along.

His cellphone vibrated in his hands. There were one too many movies where people got killed because their phone gave them away. Logan had switched his to vibrate as soon as he'd climbed into his hiding place. He wasn't about to die because of some errant text message.

Glancing down at the screen, he read Ramos' last message.

Logan's heart sank. Sending Pescado made sense. It was an adequate precaution and his own sense of self-preservation appreciated that sort off attention to detail. The nagging, needy, feeling gnawing away at his gut wasn't satisfied by that, however.

If things had been at all normal, he would've left the house as soon as he had gotten Julio's text. A moving target was more difficult to hit. That was the philosophy he had lived by for most of his life and it had kept him safe so far. Right now, things were far from normal for him. The thought of leaving the house left him paralyzed. The thought of someone other than Ramos coming to look after him left him paralyzed. Fear wasn't a new concept to him. Being immobilized by fear was.

It had to be this illness that had gotten into them.

Logan drew his knees up to his chest and rest his chin on them. All he could do was wait and pray that whoever found him first wasn't interested in killing him.

* * *

He wasn't sure how long he had sat there in the darkness before the knocking started. It was subtle at first, polite. Logan almost thought the he was imagining it. The sound increased steadily in volume until it was undeniable, however. There was no shouting, no voice to accompany it. Just a steady, hammering, knock.

Logic told him that Julio's enforcers would've busted down the door or knocked out a window by now. Despite that, he couldn't bring himself to move. He remained rooted to the floor of the closet, trembling as he clutched his knees as tightly as he could.

Eventually, the knocking ceased. It could've just been a neighbor coming to borrow something, or a bill collector, or maybe a salesman or something. That's what Logan told himself as he shrank as far back into the corner of the closet as possible. In the absence of the knocking, he became aware of the thud of his heart within his chest. The pounding in his ears was so loud that he was almost certain it could be heard from outside his body. His nerves were frayed and he felt as if he was about to burst into tears.

He hated feeling this helpless, this vulnerable. It wasn't like him and it was the worst possible time for something like this to happen.

There was a scraping sound from the direction of the living room. A moment later, he heard the deadbolt thunk open. A subtle assassin, skilled in the art of picking locks, trying to avoid causing a disturbance. The front door swung open with only the slightest creak.

Logan could practically envision the man, clad all in black, probably with a shaved head, carrying a silenced pistol in one hand as he crept across the living room. He would likely pause as he reached the hallway and try to figure out which room to search first. All the hallway doors would be closed, another stroke of genius on Logan's part.

It was just a delaying tactic though. If no one was on the way to rescue him, it would prolong his life by a few short minutes only. Ultimately, if there really was an assassin in the house right now, he was a dead man.

That realization nearly caused him to sob out loud. He cursed himself under his breath. This wasn't the time for an emotional break down. Staying calm was likely the only way he would get out of this alive. He swallowed his emotions and tried to still his heart.

He hadn't heard anything for several minutes now. Surely an assassin would've at least begun opening up doors and making an effort to find him? Time dragged on for another ten minutes or so before he heard movement in the other room. The front door was shut with finality and the deadbolt was secured once more. Whoever was moving around wasn't making any effort to conceal that fact.

They banged around the interior of the house and seemed determined to make as much racket as possible. They didn't seem interested in moving further into the house however.

Could it just have been a regular robber? A regular thief and not an assassin sent by his ex? That seemed like quite the coincidence, but not outside the realm of possibility. The police were all distracted. If you were a burglar with an ear to the ground and a good sense of timing you could grab a nice windfall today. That was all just speculation, but it somehow made Logan feel a little bit better to think that maybe the person in the other room was just a regular old thief. Especially if it was someone he used to know. He had all sorts of connections to the criminal element of La Bonita.

After a few more minutes, he heard someone start up the microwave.

Logan frowned. No one, thief, assassin, or rescuer, would stop to microwave something in the middle of their mission. He couldn't begin to imagine a world where that seemed like a good idea to any of them.

It could have been a trap. Something to lure him out of hiding. An assassin might do that. They might also fill the microwave with spoons and let it do all the work for them.

Heart pounding in his chest, Logan leaned forward and slid open the closet door. He had to at least try to figure out what was going on. Even if he just peeked out into the hallway, he might be able to get a sense of what was unfolding in the other room. He glanced towards the window at the back of the room, he'd closed every set of curtains in the house in an attempt to shut out the world. Obviously it hadn't exactly worked.

Creeping across the room on silent feet, Logan approached the bedroom door. He gently pulled it open a few inches, thankful for the silent hinges that let it swing without a sound. It was difficult to see down the hallway, but it looked like someone had moved the couch up against the front door.

The microwave beeped and whoever was in the kitchen opened it up almost immediately. It sounded like they were humming tunelessly to themselves. They rattled around in a drawer for a moment and then Logan heard the sound of silverware clinking against a dish.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him that instant noodles weren't much of a meal. The constant fear and surge of adrenaline had caused him to burn through the empty calories he had consumed before receiving Julio's text.

Logan's instinct for self-preservation warned him against leaving the room. Whoever was stuffing their face in the kitchen would probably leave soon. There hadn't been much to eat there to begin with.

He frowned. There hadn't been anything else in the kitchen. He'd eaten all the instant noodles Ramos had left for him. The cupboards and refrigerator were bare. Whoever this was had brought their lunch with them. As unsettling at the whole situation still was, Logan was reasonably certain no one that meant him harm was going to bring a sack lunch along for the ride.

Making sure he had a clear path back into the bedroom, Logan crept down the hall. Hovering in the shadows, he peered towards the kitchen where a familiar figure leaned against the counter eating a bowl of soup.

Pescado didn't say a word, just nodded to Logan when he noticed him.

"Why didn't you say something!?" Logan nearly shouted as he stepped out of the hallway. "I've been scared out of my mind and you're in here making lunch?"

"Ramos said you were here. Didn't look like anyone had broken in. Checked the perimeter, it was fine." Pescado shrugged and continued eating as if that explained everything.

Logan wanted scream. Every scenario running through his mind and he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried that this was the reality he had to face. Ramos had said he could trust Pescado and he had to believe that was true. He just wasn't entirely certain that Pescado would be up to the task if Julio's enforcers came to break down the door.

"Hungry?" Pescado asked, he indicated a bowl of soup sitting on the counter by the microwave. "My wife always makes extra for Ramos. Figured you'd want his portion."

Logan's stomach growled audibly in response. He sighed to himself as he emerged from the hallway and made his way to the kitchen. Something tickled the back of his mind and urged him to remain cautious. The threat to his life had not been abated and he needed to act like it.

None of that changed the fact that he felt like he was starving now.

Nacho handed him the bowl of soup without judgement. He continued with his own meal without appearing to miss a beat. How could he look so relaxed right now? Despite the fact that he was hungry, Logan could barely manage to eat more than a few bites before he was forced to stop eating. Any more and he thought he was going to be sick.

* * *

The nervous feeling in Logan's stomach continued for the rest of the afternoon. Despite the fact that Pescado seemed relatively unconcerned by the entire situation, Logan couldn't bring himself to relax. Even more unnerving to him was the fact that he still hadn't heard from Ramos again. He tried to think the situation through logically.

Pescado hadn't given him many details on what exactly Ramos was supposedly doing. So Logan's mind was left to run riot with his emotions. Which, considering how high strung he currently was, wasn't a healthy combination by any stretch of the word.

"He's fine," said Pescado as he slid the TV stand across the floor so that it could be seen from the new location of the couch. Logan had just accepted the rearranged furniture as an attempt to better secure their location. At least now they weren’t sitting directly in front of a large window where they would be easy targets.

"You keep saying that, but you haven't heard from him either," accused Logan as he sank down into the couch cushions and curled up as small as he could manage. Somehow he felt safer with his knees drawn up to his chest. Despite Pescado's reassurances that everything was fine and Julio didn't know where he was, he couldn't stop worrying.

"Ramos is a good detective. He'll let us know if things get rough. You don't need to worry so much." Pescado was red faced and out of breath as he finished moving the television. He huffed and puffed as he made his way back across the living room and sat on the other end of the couch.

"Yes, but--"

"But nothing," said Pescado before Logan could finish. The detective looked over at him with understanding in his eyes. "You're like my son, Samuel, in a lot of ways. Worrying so much about things that you can't control. Extremely fearful of the world around him. I tell Samuel not to worry, but it doesn't seem to help him. Finally, I sat down and explained to him why worrying isn't useful. I told him, that worry is like a lamp and the more worried you are the brighter it shines. Not only can other people see your worry and use it against you, but it drains energy from you. Energy that you can use to actually do something about the things that worry you."

Logan was silent for a long moment. He got the distinct impression the Pescado rarely, if ever, spoke that much at one time.

"It's not that I don't appreciate the example, I do, but that doesn't really help. I'm not worried about grades or monsters under the bed. There's a real possibility that Ramos, or I, or you could be killed right now. Why doesn't that worry you?" Logan found it difficult to read what was going through Pescado's mind.

"Because," said Pescado after a moment of silence. "I have nothing to worry about." His expression remained unreadable as he pulled a gun from inside of his coat. His police issued service weapon was still strapped to his side.

Logan immediately rose from the sofa goosebumps prickled across his skin. A shot of adrenaline pumped through his veins as he locked eyes with Pescado. His brain tried to make sense of the situation, but things just weren't adding up.

"You're Ramos' friend..." was all Logan could think to say.

"I am," said Pescado, somewhat forlornly. "But, detective work on this island won't put three kids through college. Julio will."

Logan glanced towards the hallway. The television stand now barricaded the path. How could he have let his guard down so much?

"You gonna kill me?" he asked as he looked back at Pescado.

"Yes."