Logan growls and takes two steps backward, breaking their locked stance and allowing Ash to leap away from the furnace. But Logan doesn’t touch his face to check the burn like I would expect; instead his eyes flit to a fire extinguisher on the far wall. He looks back at Ash, his jaw locked, and I can see the conflict written all over him. It only takes a beat for him to give up on Ash and dash for the fire extinguisher.

For a split second Ash doesn’t move; just like Logan, it seems he doesn’t want to walk away from the fight. But his hesitation vanishes when he shifts his focus to me. He scoops up the flaming apron with the tip of the iron rod and waves it forcefully at the dogs. They back up, giving me room to jump down to the floor. And we don’t waste a moment weaving a path to the exit. We bolt out of the barn doors and close them behind us, running full-speed for the car. My fingers practically slip off the door handle from the momentum.

We dive into our seats, slamming the car doors. As Ash turns the key and the engine revs to life, the barn door reopens, revealing a wild-looking Logan and a cloud of smoke. The dogs sprint toward the car and Ash slams his foot on the gas pedal, sending us screeching out of the driveway and down the bumpy dirt road so quickly that if I were still feeling sick I would definitely puke.

I look at Ash, who doesn’t appear relieved like I would expect.

“You’re hurt, Ash,” I say, catching sight of an angry red mark on his hand.

He focuses on shifting the gears aggressively, checking his mirrors to see if Logan is chasing us. “Everything we do from this point forward will be known.”

“You mean Logan—”

“I mean Logan will make sure that we’re followed. He knows we’re going to London. He knows what we’re after and why. And he may be able to guess the places we might go. We’ll be constantly looking over our shoulders,” he says, not hiding his frustration.

I cringe, remembering all the information I must have revealed during that conversation. “Ash, look, I know I screwed up—”

Now he does look at me. “Screwed up? November, you just saved us. Without you we’d both be dead. I might be a good fighter, but so was he and he had the weapon advantage. I screwed up. I’ve traded for information before, but never with someone as skilled and vicious as Logan. I should have known things might go south and planned accordingly. This is my fault.”