Prologue:
Evening settled over the mansion like something watching from the corners, quiet but never empty. The kitchen held onto that stillness, wrapped in low golden light that stretched across the counters and left the edges of the room in shadow. It should have felt calm. It didn’t.
Logan stood near the sink, a beer hanging loosely in his hand, his attention caught somewhere far from the present. Ever coming back Alkali Lakefrom a tore , his thoughts didn’t stay where he put them. They slipped. Flashes came without warning. Steel. Water. A name that never stayed long enough to grab. He exhaled slowly, jaw tight, trying to settle into the quiet.
Then something cut through it.
A scent.
Not the house. Not food. Not anything familiar.
Sweet .Warm. Wild. Alive.
Logan stilled before he even turned, his body reacting first, instincts sharpening like something had just stepped into his territory without asking.
“Hey… I’m looking for the Professor. Charles Xavier.”
Her sweet voice followed a second later, soft but steady, like she knew exactly where she was even if she hadn’t said it yet.
Logan took a slow sip of his beer before answering, buying himself a second longer to listen.
“He’s teaching a class.”he said roughly
There was a pause behind him. Then a quiet inhale, deliberate this time.
“It smells like a dog in here,” she said,
That pulled his gaze up.
She stood in the doorway like she had been placed there on purpose. The long dark denim trench coat brushed against her calves, the tan faux fur lining catching the dim light in soft edges. Her auburn hair fell in loose waves, slightly wild, framing a face that didn’t soften under his stare. And her eyes—hazel green, sharp, aware—locked onto his like she had already decided he was worth studying.
Logan leaned back against the counter, his grip tightening slightly on the bottle as he took her in. Something about her felt… off.
“Hm,” he muttered. “Who are you?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stepped inside, slow, deliberate, her boots grounding each step with quiet confidence. Her fingers brushed the counter as she passed, nails grazing lightly across the surface in a soft, rhythmic tap. Testing. Claiming space without asking.
“Annabelle Withers,” she said finally. “And no, before you ask, I didn’t get lost, I didn’t wander in, and I definitely didn’t just show up because this place looked interesting.” Her gaze flickered briefly around the kitchen, then back to him, lingering. “I’ve been looking for this mansion. For years, actually… just didn’t know it would look like this when I found it.”
Logan’s brow lifted slightly, intrigue settling deeper now. “Years, huh.”
“Yes,” she said, stepping a little closer. “My aunt used to keep records. Old ones. Things people buried and pretended never happened.” Her voice softened, but didn’t weaken. “Names kept showing up. Experiments. Government contracts. And one name that kept circling back no matter how far I dug…” She tilted her head slightly, watching him. “Charles Xavier.”
A quiet beat passed.
“I figured if I followed that trail long enough, I’d find answers,” she continued. “I just didn’t expect to find…” her gaze dropped briefly to him, then back up, a faint curve touching her lips, “…this first.”
Logan let out a low breath, something almost like a chuckle but not quite. “Yeah? And what exactly is this?”
She studied him openly now, her eyes tracing details without hesitation. “You don’t feel like the others I’ve met ,” she said. “
“Careful,” Logan said, his voice dropping just slightly. “You keep pushin’, you might not like what you find.”
Instead of backing off, she stepped closer.
Close enough now that the air between them shifted.
“I don’t mind finding out,” Annabelle replied softly. “I didn’t come all this way to stay safe. Safe doesn’t answer questions.” A small pause, then quieter, more honest, “And I have too many of those.”.
Logan straightened slightly, his attention locked fully onto her now. “You came alone?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Some things you don’t trust other people to see for you.” Her fingers curled slightly at her sleeve, then relaxed. “And some places… you feel before you even get there. Like you’ve already been.” She stilled for just a second, her gaze flickering over his face, something unreadable passing through her eyes. “This was one of them.”
Logan’s jaw tightened.
That feeling again.
Familiar.
Wrong.
“You got abilities?” he asked.
A faint smile touched her lips, softer this time, almost knowing. “You don’t waste time, do you?” she murmured. Then her eyes shifted.
Her pupils narrowed into sharp feline slits, the hazel-green deepening into something darker, something predatory. For a moment, the room felt smaller around her, like she carried something wild just under the surface.
Logan didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
His body recognized it before his mind did.
“Yeah…” he muttered under his breath. “Thought so.”
Her eyes softened back to normal just as quickly, but the tension didn’t leave. “It’s not everything,” she said quietly. “Just the part people notice first. The rest… is harder to explain.” She tilted her head slightly, studying him again. “What about you? Or do I have to keep guessing?”
“Not much to tell,” he said.
She huffed softly, a hint of amusement breaking through. “I don’t believe that. Not even a little.” Her gaze dropped briefly to his hands, then back to his face. “You stand like someone who’s waiting for a fight. And you look at people like you’re deciding whether they’re a threat or… something else.” A small pause. “I’m curious which one I am.”
Logan stepped forward then. “Still decidin’,” he said.
The air tightened.
Annabelle didn’t step back.
Instead, her lips curved just enough to show she noticed.
“Good,” she said softly. “I’d be disappointed if you figured me out that quickly.”
The tension hovered there—
And then the bell rang.
Sharp. Sudden. It cut straight through the moment, breaking it clean in half. Voices flooded the hallway almost instantly, students spilling out in waves, laughter and movement crashing into the quiet like a storm breaking through glass.
Annabelle glanced toward the noise, then back at him, a quiet breath leaving her. “That’s unfortunate,” she murmured. “I feel like we were just getting somewhere… and I don’t like unfinished conversations.”
“Professor’s class,” Logan said. “Second floor.”
She nodded slowly, pushing off the counter. “Right. Answers.” But she didn’t move right away. Instead, she looked at him again, more deliberate now, like she was committing something to memory.
“You didn’t answer something,” she said.
“What’s that?”
Her gaze held his, steady and unreadable for just a second too long.
“Good trouble… or bad trouble.”
Logan lifted the bottle, taking a slow drink before answering, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Still decidin’.”
That seemed to satisfy her more than anything else could have. A small, knowing smile touched her lips. “Take your time,” she said softly. “Some things are worth getting wrong the first time.”
The hallway grew louder, students passing the doorway now, movement pulling at the edges of the moment. Annabelle stepped back, then turned, slipping into that current without being swallowed by it. She moved differently than the others, slower, deliberate, her coat swaying behind her like it carried its own rhythm.
The kitchen felt quieter than before.
Logan didn’t move right away. His gaze stayed on the doorway longer than it should have, his grip tightening slightly around the bottle as her scent lingered in the air, stubborn, distracting.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face.
“…Yeah,” he muttered. “Trouble for sure .”
