The sun hung low in the morning sky, casting a faded glow over Neptune High's parking lot as Logan slumped against the hood of his Xterra. The buzz of students gathering, laughing and calling out to each other, all blended into a dull, distant hum. It had been two weeks since he'd seen Veronica, two weeks since that bitter argument where he'd hurled words he could barely remember but knew had cut deep. The campus had felt different ever since. Something was off. Everyone had been acting weird, even Dick seemed out of sorts.

He scanned the parking lot out of habit, then froze. The unmistakable sight of her worn-out LeBaron pulled into the far side of the lot, as close to the exit as she could get. Logan's posture shifted, something in him bracing as he watched her step out.

He barely recognised her. Gone were the soft pastel dresses and cheerful tops she usually wore. Today, she was clad in all black - combat boots, a hoodie draped like armour, and her hair, once long and blonde, was now chopped short, uneven, like she'd hacked it off herself in a fit of rage. It felt wrong, jarring, a glimpse of something he wasn't prepared to see. But as his eyes travelled down to her face, any flicker of sarcasm or amusement he might've felt disappeared, caught somewhere in his throat.

Bruises, dark and angry, were visible even under layers of makeup, the shadow of a black eye lingering just beneath. A bandage wrapped her hand, stiff and tight, and he noticed the way she cringed slightly as she slung her bag over her shoulder. It was an effort she tried to mask, but he could see it clear as day - the wince of pain, the guarded posture. It was like seeing an echo of his own life, familiar yet utterly foreign on her.

In that instant, he recognised the signs - meticulously applied makeup to cover bruises, the dark, baggy clothes to disguise a body bearing far more than its fair share of abuse. He'd watched his mother do it in his younger years, back when she would still intervene in Aaron's fury towards Logan, hiding the marks left on her face by his father.

Their eyes met across the lot, and it was like everything else faded away. Her gaze cut through him, empty, yet somehow blazing with a weight that terrified him. There was no fire, no wilful defiance. What he saw there was darker, rawer, a jagged edge of something close to ruin.

"You did this," she murmured, her voice low, flat, almost hollow, but laced with accusation. There was no anger, just an exhausted certainty that landed like a physical blow.

Logan blinked, caught off-guard. "Did what?" He tried for casual, but his voice sounded wrong—too bright, too thin.

"You threatened me," she whispered, taking a step forward, her voice so soft that he had to lean in to catch it. "And that same night, this happens? Don't act like you don't know, Logan."

He searched her face, looking for some sign that this was one of her mind games, but there was none. Her words were chilling, cutting through the layer of numbness he'd been clinging to. Logan's mind scrambled, reaching for something to anchor himself, but she offered no lifeline, only that sharp, reproachful stare. There was nothing but raw accusation, direct and unwavering, in her gaze, and he couldn't bring himself to look away, even as his insides twisted with something dangerously close to guilt.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He felt a sudden urge to look away, to run from the conversation before it spiralled into something he couldn't control. His gaze darted around the parking lot, desperate for a distraction, and then he saw Dick approaching with his usual swagger, a lazy grin plastered on his face.

Dick caught up to them, oblivious to the tension thickening the air between Veronica and Logan. "Hey, Ronnie," he called, his voice dripping with mockery. "You're not looking so hot."

Veronica didn't flinch, didn't blink. Her focus stayed fixed on Logan, but her expression shifted, an undercurrent Logan didn't quite understand.

Logan fidgeted uncomfortably for reasons he couldn't even begin to voice, glancing from Veronica to Dick, his stomach twisting into knots. "Come on, man, let's go," he muttered, hoping to escape whatever was happening here before it got worse.

But Dick, in his usual callous ignorance, just laughed. "What? I'm just saying what everyone's already thinking." He turned his smirk on Veronica, his tone suddenly cruel. "Why bother talking to a whore like her?"

The word hung in the air like a gunshot.

In the weeks since Lilly's death, people had thrown plenty of names at Veronica. Logan himself had let slip his fair share of barbs. But this - this was different. There was something chilling in the way the word hit her. Her face drained of colour, her lips parting slightly as she took a step back, as if the impact alone was enough to stagger her. For just a heartbeat, the pain was raw, visceral, etched across her face, before the familiar wall slammed back into place. Her eyes dulled, her expression a mask of stony detachment. She didn't shout, didn't hit him, didn't do any of the things Logan half-expected. She just stood there, blank and broken in a way that made his chest ache.
Something in her reaction made his heart beat faster, and Logan turned slowly towards Dick, disbelief clawing at his insides.

"What did you just say?" Logan's voice was low, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Anger at who, or what, he didn't yet know.

But Dick just shrugged, unbothered. "What? I'm just saying what everyone already knows."

Logan didn't respond. He couldn't. His gaze flickered back to Veronica, and in that moment, something began to fall into place - the bruises, her accusation, and most of all, the dead look in her eyes. Something had happened. And Dick… Dick wasn't just being his usual obnoxious self. He knew.

Veronica stood there, visibly trembling, her expression wavering between grief and fury. She took a breath, every muscle in her body coiled as she fixed Logan with one last look, her eyes steeled with cold finality.

"Stay the hell away from me," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but with an edge that made him recoil. She turned and walked away, her footsteps stiff and shaky but determined, as if every inch between her and them was a battle she refused to lose.

Logan watched her go, his body frozen, his mind a whirlwind of sickening disbelief. He wanted to reach out, to stop her, to demand an explanation, but he couldn't move, his legs leaden with dread. What the hell had happened that night?

A sickening weight settled in his gut. He didn't have the whole story, but he knew that, somehow, his anger, his taunts, had played into the nightmare that had consumed Veronica. He'd pushed her, made her an easy target.

Logan knew fear. The bruises, scars and broken bones Aaron had inflicted on him had taught him what it felt like to live under its shadow, to feel utterly powerless. But this - this was a different kind of terror, one that seeped into him, chilling him to the core. For the first time, Logan was afraid not just for himself, but for what his own actions might have wrought on someone else. That he had, even unintentionally, played a part in it. That he couldn't undo any of it, couldn't fix what had already been shattered.

And that realisation was a fear he didn't know how to face.

The hallways of Neptune High felt too loud, too bright. Every sound - the slam of a locker, the chatter of students, even her own footsteps - echoed and bounced off her skull like someone beating a drum inside her head. Her hands still shook after her confrontation with Dick, and she shoved them into the pocket of her hoodie.

Veronica kept her eyes low, navigating the crowded hallway with a single-minded focus: don't let them see you, don't see them. She didn't want to look into any faces, terrified of seeing again the familiar sneer or predatory glint in the eyes of the boys who haunted her dreams. Once that day was already once too many.

Each step sent sharp, jagged pain through her body, an unrelenting reminder of everything she'd endured. It was like stepping on broken glass, each movement reigniting the raw, searing ache between her legs where they'd left her with injuries that were taking their time to heal, making her stomach churn with nausea.

Her thoughts felt scattered, as if they were being pulled apart by invisible strings. Every so often, she felt herself drifting, the haze from the painkillers thickening around her brain like a dense fog. She wasn't even sure how she'd managed to get herself to school, her backpack slung over her shoulder as though everything was normal, like she hadn't just lived through a nightmare. In truth, she probably shouldn't even be driving; a DUI on top of a murder accusation would hardly look good. But that was just another risk in a long line of risks she couldn't afford to think about right now.

In the last two weeks at home her dad's presence hovered around her, silent but unmistakable. The way he looked at her with that tumultuous expression - the mix of fear and fury, love and helplessness - it gnawed at her.

He'd tried to talk to her, once. She could still feel the tension in his grip when he'd reached for her arm, could see the restrained rage in his eyes as he told her how sorry he was, how he wouldn't let anyone hurt his little girl ever again. But she'd felt herself pulling back, numb and floating, the painkillers blurring the edges of her emotions until everything seemed distant, like she was underwater, watching herself from afar. And so they barely spoke; words felt wrong, as if they would break some fragile, unspeakable truth they couldn't face head-on. Every step she took around him, every movement, every interaction, was carefully measured, like navigating around a hidden minefield they both knew was there but refused to acknowledge.

Veronica had downplayed the bruises, brushed off the way her ribs flared with each breath, and sworn she was fine. She'd lied through her teeth, and he'd let her. But his anger was always there, simmering just beneath the surface, and she feared the moment it would boil over.

She reached her locker and slowly swapped her books over, struggling with one hand out of action. Across the corridor, she could hear Luke teasing Shelley Pomeroy in his usual playful tone. Suddenly, her phone vibrated, cutting through the murky fog that clouded her mind. She fumbled for it, her hands clumsy, the screen glaringly bright. The caller ID was a number she recognised—the sheriff's department. She hesitated, a spike of fear threading through her, then stepped into the nearest empty classroom and shut the door behind her, gripping the phone tightly.

"Hello?"

"Veronica Mars?" The voice was familiar, accented and thick - Inga from the sheriff's department. "Something…has come up in your case. You need to come in. We have told your lawyer, he'll meet you here."

Veronica blinked, her thoughts swirling as she tried to make sense of the words. Her case? Why now, and what had changed? Confusion warred with unease, and her grip on the phone tightened. "Inga, I—what's going on?"

There was a pause, one that made her chest tighten, and then Inga responded, her voice calm but insistent. "It is better if you come in. There are new developments. As soon as possible, please."

The connection cut off before Veronica could ask anything else, and she lowered the phone, her heart pounding in her chest. Everything felt wrong. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a cold, unnatural glow that made her feel exposed, like everyone could see her, see what had been done to her, see the damage she could barely keep hidden beneath her clothes.

She slipped out of the classroom, ignoring the stares as she pushed through the crowded hallway. Her brain felt sluggish, thoughts muddled from the painkillers, but the urgency ate at her, pricking through the haze. The last thing she wanted was to go to the station, to sit in that sterile, claustrophobic room and answer more questions about Lilly. That was another wound that had yet to heal.

As she slipped through the doors and into the open air, Veronica took a breath, hoping the fresh air would clear her head. It didn't. Her hands were shaking, her pulse racing as she pulled her car keys from her bag and climbed into her LeBaron, wincing as she shifted in her seat. The drive was a blur, her grip on the wheel too tight, knuckles white as she tried to keep herself steady. The painkiller haze was both a blessing and a curse, numbing some of her physical pain but making her feel detached, as though she were drifting through her own life.

When she reached the station, a new fear settled over her. She paused outside, staring at the doors, every nerve alight with the instinct to turn around, to drive away, to find somewhere safe. But she forced herself forward, stepping inside, feeling the weight of every gaze on her as she approached the reception desk.

Inga was waiting, her face as unreadable as ever, though her eyes softened briefly as they met Veronica's. "Thank you for coming. Your lawyer, and a deputy - they are ready for you."

Veronica nodded, her mouth too dry to respond, and followed her down the familiar hallway.

Logan stumbled into the school, the world around him blurring, his legs barely able to keep him upright. The vodka he'd downed over the last twenty-four hours in his desperate attempt to numb the crushing weight of his guilt sloshed sickeningly in his stomach. His throat burned, the bitter taste still lingering on his tongue, but it did nothing to drown the ache inside him. He nearly collided with Meg, who had appeared out of nowhere, her face a blur of concern.

"Sorry," he slurred, blinking in an effort to clear the fog from his vision.

"Logan?" Meg's voice was soft, but it carried an edge of alarm. "Should you be here in this state?" Her eyes were red, swollen from crying. The sight of her looking as he felt twisted something deep inside him.

"And why shouldn't I?" Logan snapped, swaying slightly as he tried to focus on her. The room spun, his balance wavering. "What... what's wrong with me being here?"

"You haven't heard the news, have you?" Meg's voice was gentle, almost pitying, and Logan frowned, trying to understand. He shook his head, confusion knitting his brow.

"News?" he echoed.

"Come on, let's go somewhere quiet." Without waiting for him to argue, she slipped her arm through his, guiding him to an empty classroom. He didn't resist, letting her lead him like a lost child, his legs heavy, his brain struggling to keep up. She pushed him down into a chair, and he slouched, his head falling back against the cool wall.

"Have you brought me here to have your wicked way with me?" Logan tried for a grin, but it felt wrong, bitter. "Always knew that whole virgin thing was just an act—"

"Logan!" Meg cut him off, her voice sharp. Her face was pale, eyes wide with something that made his stomach drop. "Veronica didn't kill Lilly."

For a second, he paused. "What?"

"It's all over the news," Meg continued. "The report said a speeding ticket has been found… it was Lilly's."

"So?" Logan blinked again, trying to push through the fog. "She was always speeding, Meg."

"It was from the day she died." Meg's words came faster, her breath hitching. "At 6:02 p.m. They got the time of death wrong, Logan. Veronica has an alibi. She was with her dad, picking up food at a restaurant. There were dozens of witnesses. Cameras caught them together."

Logan's mind, already sluggish, struggled to process what she was saying, but his body felt like it had been plunged into ice water. He stared at her, his mouth dry, as if trying to make the pieces fit together. "Oh God…" he murmured, the words barely audible as the realisation hit. "But my dad said he saw her."

There was a beat of silence.

Meg's voice softened, the tears thick in her throat. "All those pranks they pulled on her… all the cruel things people said and did. And she's been innocent all along, Logan."

A wave of nausea hit him like a fist to the gut, the vodka churning violently. He lurched up from the chair, grabbing Meg by the shoulders, his grip too tight, desperation clawing its way out of him.

"Logan!" Meg cried out, startled by the wild look in his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"You don't know the half of it, Meg," he rasped, his voice raw. Panic surged in his chest, and without another word, he shoved past her, stumbling out of the classroom. His heart raced, pounding in his ears, and he ran - ran blindly, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway - until he crashed straight into his best friend.

"Duncan!" Logan gasped, grabbing him by the shirt. "Did you hear? Veronica didn't do anything. She didn't do a damn thing!" His voice cracked, the words coming out in a flood of panic and guilt.

Duncan's eyes widened, confusion and shock rippling across his face. He barely had time to react before Logan collapsed, sliding to the floor, clinging to him like a life-line. His body shook, like the grief he'd been trying to drown was now pouring out uncontrollably. For a moment he just wanted the real Duncan back. The one that would have tried to fix everything with a well-aimed joke and an easy smile.

"She was innocent," Logan murmured, his voice hoarse. "She was innocent, Duncan. All this time… and we…" He couldn't finish the thought, the weight of his actions, his complicity, suffocating him.

Duncan awkwardly tried to pull him up, his own face a mask of disbelief. Students around them began to stare, their whispers filling the hallway. Logan didn't care. He couldn't care.

All that mattered was that Veronica had been innocent.

And he had helped destroy her.

The last few days had passed in a haze of yet more tequila, vodka, and whiskey, a swirling cocktail of regret and self-destruction. Logan had raided his stash, the remnants of a thousand parties, but this time, the liquor wasn't for fun. It was to forget. Shot after shot, until the walls of his world melted into a blur, until the pain dulled to a distant ache he could barely feel.

He couldn't face school. The idea of walking through those halls, seeing the faces of the boys he'd once called his friends - fearing what they'd done - was too much. He couldn't bear the way they still laughed like nothing had changed, as if their actions hadn't torn the ground out from beneath him. But would they have acted if he hadn't given his permission on a silver platter?

So instead, he drowned himself in alcohol, numbing the guilt, the anger, the betrayal that clawed at his insides.

Even his father had left him alone, leaving him to drink alone in the mansion. Aaron hadn't even knocked on his door. Maybe he didn't care. Or maybe he guessed Logan was lost in his own hell and decided it wasn't worth the trouble. Or, more likely, Aaron was avoiding an awkward conversation.

Eventually, though, the fog of booze stopped working. It wasn't enough to block out the thoughts that crept in, the nightmares that replayed Lilly's death – images courtesy of the crime scene video - and the look on Veronica's face when Dick called her a whore. With his stomach twisted in knots, Logan realised he needed to sober up. He forced down a sandwich, the first meal he'd had in days, followed by several cups of strong black coffee. The food did little to settle him, and the caffeine only sharpened his nerves.

Shakily, he grabbed the keys to his Xterra and stepped into the crisp night air. It was quiet, almost unnervingly so, as if the world had paused to let him decide his next move. The engine growled to life, and Logan began the familiar journey towards Veronica's house. He kept messing with the radio, flipping between stations, unable to settle on anything, his hands trembling on the wheel. Every mile closer, his mouth got dryer.

He followed the old route by instinct - the one he, Lilly, and Duncan used to take so many times. Veronica's house had been their sanctuary, the place they all fled to when their own homes felt too cold, too distant. Keith Mars was often out late on sheriff duties, and Lianne Mars was always ready to welcome them with open arms and a fridge full of soda and snacks. It had felt like home in a way his never had.

But when Logan pulled up outside the familiar house, his chest tightened. His eyes caught on the bright red and white sign, glaring in the moonlight.SOLD.

The reality hit him hard, like a punch to the gut. For the first time since he was twelve years old, he had no idea where Veronica lived. He cursed under his breath, feeling like a fool. How could he have been so out of touch?

After making a few desperate calls, he got the address - Sunset Cliffs. Of course, the place Veronica had been forced to move to was far away from the leafy, well-manicured suburbs she had grown up in. Twenty minutes later, Logan pulled into the small parking lot, the ocean crashing against the cliffs below. The sound was calming in a way, but it couldn't silence the chaos in his head.

Logan sat in the car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to gather the courage to go up. His mind raced with the questions that had been plaguing him for days.

What did they do to her? Was it my fault? Could I have stopped it? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...

Nothing felt like enough. How could it?

Time passed until eventually he watched Keith Mars leave the apartment complex, his figure disappearing down the street. That was his cue. Logan got out, his breath catching in his throat as he made his way up the narrow steps. Every step felt heavier than the last, each one bringing him closer to the moment he dreaded.

The alcohol was still a dull throb in the back of his head, but the haze had lifted just enough for Logan to function. He stood on the doorstep, hands tucked into his sleeves like a child trying to ward off the cold, but it wasn't the air that made him shiver. It was the weight of what he'd come to do - the unspoken, the unforgivable. He knew if she slammed the door, that would be it. There would be no more chances.

Finally, he knocked.

A long silence followed, one that made him doubt if he could even go through with this. But then, the door creaked open, and there she was - Veronica. Her expression was a mixture of surprise and something darker, something wary. She looked different. No more long blonde hair that she hid behind, her eyes harder, as if the girl he once knew had been buried under layers of armour.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Her voice was sharp, defensive. She didn't even wait for him to answer before her hand moved to close the door in his face.

Panic surged in his chest. Without thinking, he shot forward, jamming his foot in the doorway before it could close completely. He caught her flinch in response, and he felt like a fucking idiot.

"Wait, Veronica. Please," he blurted, breathless, "let me in."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why would I do that?"

There was no warmth in her voice, no trace of the girl who used to tease him or laugh with him. It was cold, like the wind howling from the cliffs outside. She stood in the doorway, framed by the dull light from inside, dark circles under her eyes, visible even with the remnants of her bruising. Her jaw was tight, her whole body screaming that she was ready to slam the door in his face, his foot be damned.

Logan swallowed hard, his mouth dry as he searched for the words, but none of them seemed good enough. He'd rehearsed what he wanted to say a hundred times on the way over, but now, standing here in front of her, everything sounded wrong.

"Because..." He hesitated, taking a shaky breath. "I need to explain. I... I need you to know I'm sorry." His voice cracked, the words feeling inadequate, but it was all he had left.

Veronica's gaze hardened even more. "Sorry? You think that's going to fix anything?"

Part of him wanted to recoil, but he stood his ground, desperate. This was his last chance, and he wasn't leaving without trying everything.

"I need you to know," his voice cracked, too raw, too strained, "...it wasn't supposed to happen like this."

She scoffed, stepping back just slightly. "Wasn't supposed to happen? What exactly wasn't supposed to happen, Logan? The part where Lilly died? Or maybe when I got torn apart for standing by my dad - the only person I have left? Or how about when they accused me of killing her, my best friend, and you turned your back on me? Or maybe the part where you and your friends became monsters?"

He flinched, her words hitting harder than he thought possible.

"Veronica, please." His voice dropped to a near whisper, trembling with the weight of the guilt that had been gnawing at him for days. "I swear, I'll do anything - anything - to make it up to you. I didn't know, I didn't understand. I didn't..."

"Didn't know what?" she snapped, crossing her arms as if bracing herself for impact. Her eyes were hard, but there was something beneath that hardness, a flicker of pain. "You didn't know your friends were going to - what? Beat me? Humiliate me? Which part was unclear, Logan?"

His knees nearly buckled. He hadn't been there. He hadn't been part of it. But that didn't change the fact that those were his people. The boys he'd laughed with, fought with, partied with, grown up with. The same ones who had become a nightmare for her.

"I didn't know!" he shouted, louder than intended, before immediately dropping his voice back down. "I didn't know what they were capable of. I... I should have stopped it. I should have—"

"You should have," she cut in, her voice like ice. "But you didn't."

The words hung between them like a knife. Her hand tightened on the door, ready to push him out.

Logan's shoulders sagged, the weight of everything crushing him. He raked a hand through his hair, looking down at the ground. "I'm not asking for forgiveness, Veronica. I don't deserve it. I'm just asking you to listen. To let me make it right, whatever that means. I'll do anything. I swear."

She paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. She didn't open the door wider, but she didn't close it either.

"How do you even make something like this right, Logan?" Her voice wobbled, the cracks in her steel showing for the briefest of moments. "How do you fix what they did to me?"

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes were pleading now, desperate for something—anything. "But I'll spend the rest of my life trying to figure it out if that's what it takes."

For a long moment, there was only the sound of a bird calling from a distance. The weight of their silence was suffocating. Veronica looked at him, really looked at him, as if weighing something, deciding whether he was worth any more of her time.

She took a deep breath, her hand still gripping the door.

"Get in," she muttered, stepping aside just enough for him to pass. "You've got one chance to say whatever it is you came to say. After that, we're done."

Logan didn't hesitate. He stepped inside, his breath shaky, and for the first time in days, he felt something close to relief.