"It's Logan. 'Outbreaks are inevitable, but pandemics are optional.' - Larry Brilliant."
He found her near the edge of the property, standing at the line where the thick trees marked the boundary of the estate. Her small figure was dwarfed by the sprawling grounds, her posture tense as she peered into the woods, her gaze intense, as if she were trying to see through the darkening foliage to something that wasn't there.
"Looking for pixies?" he asked, stepping up beside her, his voice slicing through the stillness. "They only show up after a morning with shrooms."
Veronica glanced over at him, the usual wariness in her eyes, but something else lingered there - an undercurrent of anticipation, as though she was waiting for danger to show up at any moment. Her eyes scanned the area around them, sharp and calculating, her mind clearly running through scenarios, looking for weaknesses.
"Just making sure I'm not about to be the main course in some woodland creature's dinner plans," she joked, but Logan could see the subtle strain in her shoulders.
It was obvious the world outside was disintegrating, and with it, people were getting desperate. He could understand why Veronica would be on edge. But this house was built for just that: security. It was designed to keep unwanted guests out, and as much as she was trying to protect herself, so was the estate.
"We should check the cameras and the security system when we get back," Veronica added quietly. Her gaze shifted across the boundary again, as though running through the details, mentally calculating the angles.
Logan tilted his head back, scanning the view. The tall iron gates stood stark against the horizon, heavy and imposing. Beyond them, dense trees and high walls stretched far into the distance, the area surrounding the estate as much a part of its defence as the house itself.
"This place was built for privacy," he said, leaning casually against one of the thick trees that lined the boundary. His tone was relaxed, but there was no mistaking the truth beneath it. "It's locked down tight enough to keep out the world. If it can keep the paparazzi out, I think we'll be safe here."
Veronica raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical. Her eyes moved from the gates to him, and for a moment, Logan wasn't sure whether she was buying into his reassurance. He debated a topic change to lighten the mood, but the strain in her posture, the way her eyes darted over every shadow, told him the tension wasn't going anywhere.
"I get that the press are vultures, but can we really compare keeping them out to... whatever's happening out there?" she asked, her voice sharp with doubt.
Logan shrugged, not missing the tightness in her expression. "It's not the same, I know. But, yeah, I'm saying no one's getting in easily. The system here? It's solid."
Veronica didn't look convinced. "I guess so. But you should have seen people throwing down over a few cans of outdated food, Logan. And when people get cornered, they'll try anything."
He realised she was right, and his gaze shifted to her, noticing the way her jaw was clenched and her posture stiff as if she were preparing for something she couldn't quite put into words. It wasn't just the house or food she was worried about - it was something bigger, something she wasn't letting herself fully acknowledge. It was the same defensive stance she always took when she was bracing for the worst. The things she'd seen in the past week had understandably shaken her up.
Logan couldn't imagine what it had been like for her to watch the chaos unfold at the Sunset Cliffs apartment, her former sanctuary turned battleground, and how it must have felt to be alone and undefended. Seeing people attacked, realising how quickly things could go from bad to worse.
Logan shifted uncomfortably, the thought of looters breaking in here - a scenario he'd never truly feared - seemed suddenly real. He knew he had more ways to defend himself than she did. But Veronica? She was a different kind of fighter, one who'd had to rely on her smarts rather than her strength. The fear in her eyes, though, was something he didn't want to see again.
He stepped closer, his tone softer now, trying to steady the storm he could see brewing beneath her skin. "I get it. But right now, you're safe here. No one's getting through that gate without us knowing about it."
Veronica didn't respond right away. Instead, she turned back towards the trees, looking at the perimeter again as if analysing for an invisible threat hiding in the shadows. Logan could feel the weight of her anxiety in the air - thick and heavy. She wasn't convinced by simple words, and he knew it.
He took a steadying breath, recognising that the only way to ease her fears was through action. The house, the security, the walls - they weren't enough to give her peace. It was the tangible effort to ensure the property was safe, that would give her the assurance she needed.
Logan took a deep breath, then said, "Let's go and check the boundary wall, make sure everything's tight. We'll do it together, and if we find something that can be reinforced, we'll do it. We've got time to make sure it's impossible for anyone to breach it."
Veronica looked over at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered his offer. He could see her mind running, evaluating, and then slowly she nodded.
"Yeah, let's do that," she agreed, her voice more certain now.
They moved together, surveying the property as they went. Every inch of the boundary was checked, from the high, sturdy gates, to the main wall, to the tree line - the dense thicket of branches and leaves that acted as a natural barrier. They picked out every potential flaw - places where the ground sloped just enough to leave a gap, a tree root that had eroded the fence line, a section of the stone wall that had cracked slightly.
"This could use some reinforcing," Veronica pointed out, motioning to a section of the fence near the corner where the stone wall met the trees. "If we wrap some of the rope around this, we could hold it in place, make it harder to climb. And there, where it's a bit lower – we could add nails, or glass."
Logan nodded, impressed by her thinking. "Good call. Let's do it."
They worked together, using what they had: rope from the storage room, some tools from the garage, and a few large rocks from around the property. They didn't say much as they worked, but there was a quiet agreement between them to fully make sure the estate was as secure as it could be.
When they were done, they stood back to take in their work. The rope was tightly wound around the fence, reinforcing the weak spot, and the stones had been used to shore up the cracks in the wall, and they'd reinforced the tree line. Any area lower than seven feet had been weaponised the best they could.
"Not bad," Logan said with a satisfied grin. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, the gravity of everything - the world outside, the uncertainty of what was to come - seemed to lift, just a little, by taking some control back. He could almost see the tension easing from her shoulders as she returned his smile.
"One less thing to worry about," Veronica confirmed.
They finished putting away the various tools they'd acquired over the afternoon, and headed back to the kitchen with an unspoken agreement that it was time for drinks and snacks. He pulled out an assortment.
"So, how about that movie marathon you owe me? I've got popcorn so I'm practically a five-star host."
Veronica shot him a sideways glance, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "I'll be sure to leave a review on Trip-Advisor," she said, her voice lighter. "But I'm picking the first one."
He raised an eyebrow, a grin creeping across his face. "Alright, but if it's aliens, we're going full 'screw humanity' mode, right? None of that 'aliens want to be our best friends' nonsense, no heart-to-hearts with little green men."
Chuckling, she shook her head. "I'll make sure it's just the right level of destruction, don't worry."
Logan paced the length of the living room for what felt like the hundredth time. He had woken up with restlessness coiled in his muscles like a spring wound too tight. He knew the estate was secure after their work the day before - as safe as it could be under the circumstances - but his mind wouldn't quit spinning with worst-case scenarios. He glanced towards the couch, where Veronica was curled up with a book, her blonde hair catching the light like spun gold. She looked relaxed, her ankles tucked beneath her, her lips slightly parted in concentration.
If someone got in - and he refused to let that happen - she wouldn't stand a chance against them. If something did spin out of control, it would make him feel better knowing she had some tricks up her sleeve to defend herself.
He cleared his throat, and her eyes flicked up to meet his, questioning. "You want to do something?" he asked. "Burn off some energy?"
Veronica closed her book and arched a brow. "What did you have in mind?"
"Self-defence," he said, trying to keep his tone from showing his true anxieties. "We don't know how long this could go on and it couldn't hurt to know a few moves."
Her lips twitched in a smirk. "You think I can't handle myself?"
"Not against someone bigger and stronger," Logan said bluntly. "Which is most people."
Veronica rolled her eyes but set the book aside. "Alright, fine. Show me what you've got, tough guy."
"Good." Logan gestured towards the hall. "Let's hit the gym. Wear something comfortable."
Fifteen minutes later, they stood facing each other on the padded floor of the gym, the faint scent of rubber and metal in the air. Logan had changed into a fitted tank top and sweats, while Veronica wore an olive camisole and leggings, with her hair pulled back. His eyes lingered a beat too long on the curve of her hips, the way the fabric clung to her as she stretched her arms above her head.
Focus, man.
"Alright," Logan said, forcing his voice to stay steady. "First thing you need to know is how to get out of a grab. Someone tries to grab your wrist, don't pull back. You go towards their thumb, where the grip is weakest."
He stepped closer and wrapped his hand lightly around her wrist. Her skin was warm and soft beneath his fingers. "Now, twist and pull up. Like this."
Veronica followed his instructions, and her wrist slipped free of his grasp. "Not bad," he said, letting a small smile tug at his lips. "But you've got to be quicker. If someone's grabbing you, they're not playing nice."
"Noted," she replied with a shrug. "So then I'll aim for their ego. That's usually the softest spot."
"I'm pretty sure that's how you've got half the town under your thumb already," Logan replied wryly, before he grabbed her wrist again with a firmer grip. "Try again." Veronica's lips pressed slightly as she yanked her wrist free, her movements more fluid and precise. Her breathing quickened slightly, and Logan's pulse jumped in response. They practised a few more times, with him changing where on her arm he was holding, and giving suggestions on how to get free.
"Good," he said, his voice low. "Now let's move on to something more aggressive."
He stepped back and motioned for her to come at him. "If someone's in your space and you've got no way out, you've got to play dirty. Go for the eyes, the throat, the groin - whatever gives you the best shot to get away."
"You're really selling this whole 'violence is the answer' thing," Veronica said, but there was a glint in her eye, like she was enjoying the challenge.
"Sometimes it is," Logan replied with a shrug. "Alright, I'm coming at you. Show me what you've got."
He lunged, slow enough to give her a chance to react, but she surprised him by sidestepping smoothly and landing a quick jab to his ribs. He winced, not because it hurt, but because the brush of her knuckles sent heat pooling low in his stomach.
"Not bad," he said, stepping back with a grin. "But you'll need to hit harder than that."
"Oh, you want harder?" she shot back, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Fine."
This time, when he came at her, she ducked under his arm and aimed a knee at his midsection. He caught her leg just in time, his hands gripping her thigh, and for a moment, they were too close, their breaths mingling.
Logan's eyes locked on hers, and he was acutely aware of every point of contact between them. The heat of her body, the faint scent of her shampoo - it was all too much and not enough.
"Nice try," he murmured, his voice rough. "Go again."
They practised relentlessly, the sound of their laboured breathing echoing in the gym. Sweat trickled down their skin, mingling with the rising anticipation between them. When he lunged again, she moved instinctively, sweeping her leg under his. They crashed to the floor, the impact jolting the air between them.
Logan landed flat on his back, the thud reverberating through the mat. Veronica sprawled across him, her hair cascading over his chest like liquid gold. For a moment, time stalled. The only sound was the uneven hitch of their breaths, and the charged silence wrapped around them like a fuse waiting to ignite.
His hands hovered at her waist, the warmth of her body searing through his damp shirt. Her palms rested firmly on his chest, and he knew she could feel the frantic drumbeat of his heart beneath her touch. God, if being trapped in a house with Veronica didn't do him in, he wasn't sure anything could.
Her lips parted slightly as she looked down at him, her face mere inches from his. Her eyes, deep and luminous really were the perfect shade of ocean blue. "Guess I win that round," she whispered, her voice softer, almost intimate.
"Maybe," he replied, his tone low and rough, his eyes flicking briefly to her mouth before dragging them back to her eyes. For a split second, his resolve wavered - she was too close, too tempting.
Luckily before he did something he regretted, she pulled back, breaking the moment, and climbed off him. She then offered her hand to help him up and he took it, the spark of contact making his breath hitch. As he stood, he raked a hand through his damp hair, trying to dispel what was lingering between them.
"You're getting better," he said, his voice steadier now. "Let's call it a day."
"You sure?" Veronica arched a brow, her tone light but laced with teasing. "You look like you've still got plenty of energy to burn."
Logan chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Nah, I'm good. Besides, I think you're ready to take on the world."
As they grabbed their towels and headed for the exit, Logan stole a glance at her, pride and something deeper coiling in his chest. She'd held her own today, no question. But how long was he supposed to keep playing the gentleman, especially when every moment alone with her felt like stepping closer to the edge of a cliff?
Even now, with the world in chaos, Veronica Mars was the one constant that made him feel like himself. But she wasn't a cheat, not even in a catastrophe, and he'd damn well respect that - even if it killed him.
He wasn't even sure what had sparked the exploration. Maybe it was boredom, the heavy weight of too much time to kill, or the eerie quiet of the empty house - no one around to care, no one to judge. Room by room, they wandered, their steps echoing faintly against the cold marble floors, poking through the remnants of a life that felt more like a museum than a home.
Logan never lingered in his parents' bedroom if he could help it. The air was heavy with memories, the lingering traces of his mother's delicate floral perfume sharp enough to cut. It was a place steeped in ghosts, and yet, here they were, their footsteps hesitant as they crossed the threshold.
The room was pristine, almost sterile, with its crisp white bedding and perfectly aligned but ugly cherry wood furniture. Logan's stomach churned as they stepped into the adjoining dressing rooms. His father's side was a shrine to vanity: rows of tailored suits in varying shades of charcoal and navy, neatly arranged ties, and shelves upon shelves of shoes - polished to a mirror shine. He paused in front of the suits, his fingers sliding over the fabric, memories bubbling to the surface unbidden. He could almost hear Aaron's voice, cold and commanding, sending him into this room like a trained dog to fetch his latest punishment.
Across the room, Veronica was rifling through drawers with the casual efficiency of someone who had long since learned how to search without leaving a trace. The cherry wood glowed softly in the dim light as she slid open the doors to a closet.
"Jesus, how many belts does he need?" she muttered, her voice tinged with disgust. She pulled one free, letting it dangle from her fingers like it was contaminated. "And more black shoes. Creepy."
Logan froze. His breath hitched for just a second, but Veronica noticed. She always noticed. Her eyes flicked to him, her expression sharpening, and he knew the moment she pieced it together. She had a knack for ferreting out the truth, even the truths he'd buried deep.
"These," she said softly, holding up the belt, "are these what he used?"
There was no judgment in her voice, just quiet understanding. Logan nodded, his throat tightening. She already knew about the abuse - Trina's cruel words at the Sunset Regent had seen to burns and broken noses. The kind of wounds that didn't heal clean.
That summer, Veronica had traced the scars on his skin with a touch so light it made his chest ache. She'd kissed some of them, her lips brushing over the marks as if to rewrite their meaning. But she'd never pressed for details. Not once.
"He'd make me pick first," Logan said, his voice low and raw. The words hung in the air like a confession, and he braced himself for her reaction. He expected disbelief or pity - expressions he'd seen before on the faces of the few people he'd told as a child. Their sympathy never lasted long, wiped away by the cold efficiency of a discrete cheque.
But Veronica's face was different. Her eyes burned with fury, her jaw tight with barely restrained anger.
"Hey, it's okay," Logan said quickly, though he knew it wasn't. "He'll get what's coming to him."
Her voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. "But not for you," she snapped. "I just hate him."
Logan's throat tightened. "I know. For what he did to Lilly."
"And you." Her voice softened, but the anger didn't fade. "I hate him for that just as much."
The words hit him like a gut punch. Lilly was the untouchable fixture in Veronica's world, the force that had driven so many of her choices, her battles and her relentless need for justice. Logan had always believed that her grief for Lilly stood apart, unreachable. But hearing that she carried the same fury for him, that Aaron's cruelty towards him mattered just as much - it left him shaken. For a moment, he couldn't speak, couldn't move, as he felt momentarily unmoored.
Veronica's gaze flicked back to the belts, her lips pressing into a determined line. "We should burn them," she said, her tone as calm and serious as if she were proposing a ritual to purge a curse.
Logan barked a short laugh, more out of surprise than amusement. "Yeah, maybe we should."
Her eyes snapped to his, her expression unwavering. "I mean it, Logan."
There was a fire in her voice that made something stir inside him, something both terrifying and oddly comforting. The dim light from the recessed bulbs above cast long shadows on the glossy floor as they stood surrounded by Aaron's perfectly curated symbols of cruelty. Logan realised then that a part of him was still waiting - waiting for Aaron to walk back into his life, to take up the game where it had left off, to remind him who held the leash. Even with Aaron behind bars and the world outside grinding to a halt, that tension lingered, like a wound that never quite healed.
His gaze fell back on the belts, the leather gleaming under the light like coiled snakes. His jaw tightened, and in one fluid motion, he swept them off the hooks, gathering the heavy bundle in his arms. He could feel the weight of them, but with every step he took out of that room, they felt a little lighter.
They entered the main bedroom, where the air seemed less suffocating but still carried an oppressive stillness. On his mother's dressing table, nestled between a collection of delicate glass perfume bottles, was her silver lighter. Logan reached for it, the cool metal solid in his palm.
"Come on," he said, turning to Veronica, a faint but resolute smile tugging at his lips. "Let's start a fire."
Veronica's eyes softened, though her resolve remained. She nodded, and together they moved with purpose, two conspirators ready to cleanse the past in the most primal way possible.
Logan led her out to the sprawling balcony, the night air cool and bracing. He piled wood first in the wrought iron firepit, then lay the belts on top, their sleek, polished surfaces catching the moonlight one last time. Finally he poured lighter fluid over them.
Veronica stood beside him, her arms crossed, her silhouette sharp against the backdrop of the night sky.
Logan flicked the lighter open, the small flame springing to life with a soft click. For a moment, he hesitated, staring at the flame as it danced, its warmth licking his fingers. Then, with a deep breath, he lowered it to a piece of kindling, then threw it into the centre.
The fire caught slowly at first, then with a sudden whoosh. They stepped back as thick, acrid smoke curled into the night sky. In time the leather curled as the flames devoured it, finally taking with it the remnants of his father's reign.
Veronica stepped closer to him, her fingers brushing against his. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
Logan exhaled, the tension in his chest easing slightly. "Yeah," he admitted, watching as the last belt blackened and disintegrated. "It really does."
They stood side by side in the flickering firelight, the heat warming their faces as the contents of the pit were reduced to ash.
"You've got Logan. Here's today's inspirational quote: 'Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first.' –Ernestine Ulmer"
Logan stood at the marble countertop, eyeing with curiosity and apprehension the array of vegetables and jars Veronica had spread out. The sleek, industrial kitchen in his father's house had always been more of a showpiece than a workspace. It was where chefs with clipped accents whipped up haute cuisine while Logan sat at the dining table, picking at dishes that looked more like abstract art than food. Now, it was just him, Veronica, and the earthy smell of fresh basil in the air.
"Alright, Chef Echolls," Veronica teased, tying the strings of an oversized apron around his waist. "Today, we're starting simple. Spaghetti aglio e olio."
Logan cocked an eyebrow. "Sounds fancy. What's in it? Some kind of rare truffle oil? Liquid gold?"
"Garlic, olive oil, pasta, and a little chili for kick," she replied, handing him a knife. "You'll survive. Now, grab that garlic and start chopping. Just… don't cut off a finger, okay? My sewing skills are non-existent."
He picked up the knife, the blade glinting under the soft pendant lights, and he began to chop with swift movements as best he could. His first few slices were uneven - some razor-thin, others clunky and thick. Veronica leaned closer, her hand briefly brushing his as she adjusted his grip.
"See? Like this." Her voice was warm, patient.
Logan's pulse quickened, but he focused on the rhythm of the knife against the cutting board.
Once the garlic was diced, Veronica moved on to the stove, heating a shallow pool of olive oil in a pan. "Now, this part's crucial. Too hot, and you'll burn the garlic. We want it golden, not crispy."
Logan watched as she tilted the pan, letting the oil shimmer and ripple before tossing in the garlic. The aroma hit him instantly, rich and inviting, stirring memories of childhood meals he'd long since forgotten.
"Smells good already," he said, leaning against the counter.
Veronica tossed a handful of chili flakes into the pan and gave him a smile. "Told you. Simple, but effective."
They worked in tandem, Logan stirring the garlic while Veronica salted the boiling pasta water. She rattled off tips as they went, her voice steady and light, filling the cavernous kitchen with an unexpected warmth.
"Okay, now for the magic," she said, draining the pasta and adding it to the pan. She handed Logan a pair of tongs. "Toss it like this. Coat every strand in the oil."
He flicked his wrist and gave the pan a quick swirl.
"Not bad," Veronica admitted. "You might have a hidden talent for this."
He smirked, plating the pasta with exaggerated finesse. "Don't let anyone hear you say that. I've got a reputation to maintain."
"Yeah, because nothing says bad boy like perfectly al dente spaghetti," she shot back, grabbing two forks.
They ate at the kitchen island, the food steaming between them. The simplicity of the dish belied its flavour - the silky oil clinging to each strand, the mellow garlic softened by the heat, the chili adding just the right amount of bite.
"Okay, I'll admit it," Logan said after a few bites. "This is way better than whatever the chefs usually whip up that I can't even name."
Veronica's eyes sparkled with satisfaction. "Told you. But don't get too cocky. Next, we're tackling something more ambitious. How do you feel about gnocchi from scratch?"
Over the next week, their cooking sessions became a nightly ritual. They moved on to heartier dishes - Tuscan bean soup, chicken cacciatore, and a creamy mushroom risotto that Logan initially deemed impossible. Veronica's confidence in the kitchen was contagious, and Logan found himself looking forward to their experiments.
Batch cooking became part of their routine, too. Together, they chopped, diced, and sautéed their way through the bounty of vegetables Logan had impulsively ordered. They froze portions of stews and soups, filling the cavernous freezer with neatly labelled containers.
That night, the kitchen buzzed with activity as they attempted a Mexican feast. Logan stood by the stove, watching over a sizzling pan of fajita vegetables while Veronica grated cheese at the counter, humming softly to herself. The rich, smoky scent of roasted peppers and cumin filled the air, mingling with the faint sound of salsa music playing from her phone.
Logan's phone dinged, breaking the momentum of their shared task. He froze, the familiar chime cutting through the cozy atmosphere like a shard of ice. He wasn't even sure why he still carried the damn thing around - habit, he guessed. Most of the messages these days brought only more bad news, updates on the relentless spread of the virus that turned his stomach into a knot. He had learned to avoid checking unless absolutely necessary.
Veronica glanced over her shoulder, her brows lifting in question, but she didn't say anything. She'd heard from her dad the day before - Keith was still hunkered down with Aunt Cheryl in Palm Springs, where the rural isolation offered some measure of safety. Veronica had been visibly more relaxed since getting the confirmation that he was okay, her tension easing into something closer to her usual self.
Logan sighed, wiping his hands on a dish towel before picking up his phone. The screen lit up with a message from Dick. His breath caught as he read it:
Beav didn't make it. Virus.
Logan stared at the words, their stark simplicity hitting him like a punch to the gut. Beaver – Cassidy - gone. His mind flashed to the younger boy's shy smile, the way his eyes lit up when he landed a perfect wave, the hours they'd spent lost in video games and stupid jokes. Dick's little brother, his shadow, his partner in mischief. The thought of him dying alone in his house, without the ability to receive emergency assistance, tightened Logan's throat.
Neither Dick nor their dad were showing symptoms, the message confirmed. But Logan's relief at that was fleeting, chased by a gnawing unease. Could the virus incubate? The Casablancas family had been as locked down as he was, hadn't they? And yet…
His gaze drifted to Veronica, who was now slicing avocados with practised ease, her lips pursed in concentration. The thought of her suddenly developing the virus, her vibrant energy slipping away, her laughter fading… Logan's chest tightened painfully. He could imagine it too clearly, the helplessness of watching her deteriorate while he stood by, powerless to stop it. The fear was like a dark tide rising, threatening to pull him under.
"Everyone okay?" Veronica's voice broke through his spiralling thoughts, soft but tinged with concern. She was watching him now, her hands stilling on the cutting board.
Logan forced himself to nod, schooling his expression into something resembling calm. "Yeah," he lied, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside.
Veronica's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, but she didn't press. Instead, she gave him a small, reassuring smile and went back to her task. Logan swallowed hard, shoving his phone into his pocket and trying to refocus on the meal.
"This is Logan with today's inspirational message. 'Grief is the price we pay for love.' — Queen Elizabeth II."
Logan hunched over the screen, his face illuminated by the grainy black-and-white glow of the surveillance feed. It was his turn to check the cameras, a habit that had become second nature since Veronica had arrived. She brought her paranoia with her, and he'd adjusted without complaint, though he'd never admit it aloud.
He squinted, leaning closer to the monitor. A cluster of figures gathered near the gate, their outlines barely distinguishable in the murky darkness. Logan's stomach clenched as he counted at least four - no, five - men. One of them swept a flashlight back and forth, the beam slicing through the night like a knife.
"Veronica," he called, his voice low but urgent. She appeared behind him almost immediately, her steps silent despite the tension crackling in the air.
"What is it?" she asked, her tone sharp as she scanned the screen over his shoulder. Her eyes locked onto the flashlight, her expression darkening. "They're scoping out the gate."
Logan nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah. It's like they're looking for a way in."
Veronica straightened, her gaze narrowing as her mind worked. "They might be testing the perimeter, checking for weak spots."
"Weak spots?" Logan repeated, his voice thick with disbelief. "You know there aren't any. Even if they manage to scale it, the house is locked down tighter than Fort Knox."
"Doesn't mean they won't try," she shot back.
They fell into an uneasy silence, both watching the feed as the men lingered by the gate. The flashlight beam danced over the wrought iron, and Logan could feel his pulse thrumming in his ears.
"What do we do if they get in?" Veronica asked, her voice quiet but steady.
Logan's jaw tightened. "They won't."
"But if they do—"
"You're locking yourself in my dad's office," he cut her off. His tone left no room for argument, but Veronica, being Veronica, bristled anyway.
"Like hell I am." She crossed her arms, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. "I'm not leaving you out here alone."
Logan turned to face her, his frustration bubbling over. "Veronica, don't be stubborn. That office is basically a panic room. You'll be safe there."
"I'm not hiding while you play hero." Her voice rose, a hard edge creeping in. "We stick together."
"And do what, fight them off with witty comebacks?" Logan snapped. "We have guns, but that doesn't mean we're invincible."
She didn't move, her gaze steady. "I'm not leaving you. End of discussion."
Logan groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. He wanted to argue, to insist she do as he said, but the look in her eyes told him it would be a waste of breath. Stubborn, infuriating Veronica Mars.
They turned back to the screen, tension thick between them. The men's movements were slow and deliberate, the flashlight beam lingering on the gate's entry pad. Logan's heart raced as one of them pulled out what looked like a tool kit.
"They're serious," he muttered. "They really think they can get in."
Veronica's hand brushed against his arm, a small gesture that steadied him more than he'd like to admit. "They'll give up," she said, her voice firmer than he expected. "They can't get past the gate."
"And if they do?" he pressed.
"Then we'll be ready," she replied, her eyes never leaving the screen.
Minutes ticked by like hours as they watched, their nerves fraying with every passing second. Logan gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles white. Veronica stood rigid beside him, her jaw set in a determined line.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the men began to retreat. The flashlight flicked off, and the group moved away from the gate, their figures fading into the shadows.
Logan exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "They're leaving," he said, relief flooding his voice.
Veronica nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "For now."
They exchanged a glance, the tension between them easing but not disappearing entirely. Logan knew the danger wasn't over, and so did she. But for tonight, at least, they were safe.
"I'll check the cameras again in an hour," he said quietly.
Veronica squeezed his arm, her touch lingering. "We'll check them together."