For the second time in this godforsaken night, did the door swing open thunderously.

It took every ounce of restraint Tahlia had in her, to not flinch at the sound she had come to dread in the four hours that had passed since the last ordeal, one that had left the skin on her fingers littered with nicks and lacerations.

The sound of brazen footsteps approaching her way sent her senses spiralling into overdrive. Her eyes flew shut as she attempted to temper her breathing and stop sobbing, but the entirety of her command over her own body seemed to have been lost; as try as she may, she just couldn't help the shivers that made her limbs tremble not-so subtly, as she feigned sleep.

She felt his presence linger around her limp body on the chair, surely taking his time, assessing her.

She tried her absolute best to not shift and squirm, or give herself away by letting a rogue tear roll down her face.

But the minute she heard him draw closer to her slumped form, her chest started heaving frightfully.

For all she knew, he was going to drive a screwdriver down her thigh to wake her up. At that point, Natalia Faith Meyers just didn't know what was possible with an unhinged psychopath and what wasn't.

Days passed, months perhaps, as nothing happened. At least that's what it seemed like to her. Realistically, only a few minutes were spent as Tahlia's heart rattled with anxiousness. She was half-tempted to take a quick peek at what was going on.

"You do not have to pretend to be asleep Natalia."

The sound of his voice so close to her face really did a number on her, for then it wasn't only her body that was left quivering, but her mouth too.

Slowly, she opened her lids, coming to face him.

Immediately she noticed there was something different about him. His face, it was softer, more serene, than it had been the last she'd seen him a few hours ago. As he had steered the knife into her flesh, she could swear she had seen a flash of insanity in his eyes, a flash of Ian.

But right now, he appeared to be less out of it, he was less...manic.

Nonetheless, he was a murderer.

"Back the fuck away from me, you fucking psycho." Tahlia seethed, her broken voice barely audible, but the intent behind them as clear as day.

She was done being afraid of death.

The superficial dauntlessness stemmed from the fact that Tahlia had, in the last four hours of being left alone with her thoughts, come to terms with the fact that she was going to die.

It was inevitable; Sooner or later, she was going to end up in a criminal psychology case profile, much like her own ones.

Victimology, the section would read, Natalia Faith Meyers, 20 years old.

Logan blinked, breaking eye contact, his face falling for a split second, before composing his stoic demeanor yet again.

Just like he had before she tried to lunge for the knife in his hands, Logan bent down to finish what he started, this time cutting the tape that tied her legs to the chair. As he straightened up, she assumed he'd do the same to the fresh restraints on her wrists. But instead, he simply proceeded to grip her by the right arm and haul her body upright.

He leaned in, peering down into her alarmed eyes, his grip firm in warning,

"Don't even think about running Natalia. You won't like what happens next."

She said nothing but stared back at him with unconcealed nerve-wracking fear in her stance, but also a hint of defiance.

Only as he ushered her towards the door, it became apparent to Tahlia just how weak and fatigued she was. She had gone hours and hours without a drop of water or food, not to mention being bound in the same position— Her muscles practically cried for help as she took those agonizing steps forward, wayward soft groans escaping her lips every once in a while.

He led her out the door, out into another room. It was bigger, a bit brighter than the one she was kept in. This one had two windows with curtains drawn over them, and a door, a table and two chairs placed right in front of it.

The walls and the floor were all wooden, making Tahlia conclude that it was likely she was being held in a cottage or cabin.

She cranked her neck up to the side, looking at him with apprehension.

What did he plan on doing?

It was like he'd read her mind, for he began steering her to a corner, bringing her to another door. His grip on her arms loosened by a fraction, as he pushed it open to reveal a small toilet.

Tahlia hated to admit it, but she was so thankful she could cry. As degrading and humiliating as it was, had she been left tied up in that chair for an extra hour or so, she would have had to swallow her pride and go right there.

She glanced at the bathroom, then at him, then back again at the bathroom as she stepped inside. She'd almost closed the door behind her, as his shoe dipped into the space between the frame and the door, prying it open a few extra inches.

"Three minutes and then I'm opening the door." He voiced in a matter-of-fact way.

The second he removed his foot, Tahlia slammed the door shut with her elbow, finally breathing. Albeit, not finding a latch or lock on it filled her with terrible unease; beggars can't be choosers, can they?

Thus, she did her business as quickly as she could, although it proved to be tricky with her wrists bound, before jutting up and darting around the space to find something she could arm herself with.

Like the rest of the house, this room too was so remarkably dark, with only a single bulb hanging from the ceiling as it's sole light source.

Nothing, there was absolutely nothing that would pay off in the toilet. Not even a mirror that she could have broken and used a shard out of to defend herself with.

She wanted to scream like an animal, or bash her head against the walls, but what possible consequence would that lead to? She didn't even know where she was.

It was as she paced around, a million different thoughts and scenarios were rampaging inside her head, that the door opened from behind her.

He scanned the space with calculative eyes, then glimpsing back at her, as he stalked in.

She had grown to abhor the color blue.

The stupid, bewitching, repulsive, magnificent shade of blue.

She recoiled at his touch, as he clamped his fingers around her arms like a boa constrictor, lugging her out, into the slapdash living room.

Her head spun as she was sat back down into a chair, almost breathless. He didn't bother tying her feet, as he then proceeded to take the place right across from hers. With only the table in between them, Tahlia almost laughed at the irony.

By the looks of it, Logan too was thinking the same thing, for a brief smile came over his lips as he cocked his head to the side, "Feels like deja vu, doesn't it?"

His eyes zeroed in on her secured wrists, "Tell me, did you find a sense of confidence or security in the fact that my hands used to be cuffed?"

As she didn't reply, he pursed his lips, "Oh come on Natalia, for old time's sake."

Tahlia clenched her jaw,

"If you want to kill me, then kill me. If you want to hurt me first, then torture me some. Just..do it." She spewed, defeat ringing in her tone. She looked away, her gaze settling on the door to her left, before dropping down to her fingers, observing the russet swirls of blood that had settled on the flesh.

A second of stunning silence passed, only after which Tahlia felt slender fingers tipping her chin up with mild vigour, compelling her to look him in the eyes.

"Aren't you happy to see me?"

Tahlia couldn't tell whether he was mocking her or not. The way his gravelly voice dipped low, with no discernable emotion on his face did not give away what was going on in his mind.

"Get away from me." She hissed.

He let go, drawing back at once. It was then that Tahlia finally, had a good look of Logan, for the first time since she'd foolishly kissed him.

The shadows under his eyes had deepened, giving his flawless visage a beat look. Even with his broad shoulders, and sculpted forearms, Tahlia could tell he had lost weight. His hair was longer than she remembered, his skin milky pale, clearly not having seen the sun in a while.

"Are you going to kill me Logan?" She spoke, her voice softer, her eyes glassy but not spilling down yet.

He took his time studying her face, searching for something.

"Yes."

She only nodded, biting down on her lower lip to prevent crying out loud. She wasn't going to cry. If fear was what he craved, then she refused to give him that satisfaction. For once in her life, she refused to be weak.

Tahlia only prayed to be buried beside her sister.

Suddenly, he rose from his seat, walking over to her.

He reached into the back pocket of his pants, producing a small switchblade.

Her face blanched, breath hitching in her throat.

The silver blade was tormentingly brought down just a few centimetres from her neck. And just as Tahlia thought he was going to slash her throat, instead, the knife tore into the woolen material of her turtleneck. She looked at him with wide eyes as he sliced open the sweater like it was a plain rag. As he peeled off the layer from her body, it dawned on her what was happening.

"Oh my god," She breathed, hypervigilant. "Stop, w-what are you doing!?"

In school, Tahlia had learnt about the two responses of the human body to distressing situations, Flight or Fight.

She could either make a run for it, or try to overpower the 6'4, knife-wielding seasoned killer.

But no one had ever taught her anything about the third response— Freeze.

She was petrified, frozen in her spot, it seemed as he undressed her until she was left in a ribbed, full-sleeved but thin top only. He didn't touch her jeans, as he rose back up.

Her chest relaxed, relieved, but then confusion took over quickly.

The fuck is he doing?

Her puzzled gaze followed him back into the chair, where he sank back down with his arms crossed. Tahlia was suddenly immensely aware of the crisp winter air circulating in the room. The cold was creeping up on her now poorly shielded skin.

"One last time," His voice began unwaveringly, "Let's play a game. You answer a question and I'll answer one of yours. Truthfully."

Let's play a game.

Isn't that how it all began? Tahlia's mind started sprinting a million miles.

For one small second she imagined how things could have been if she'd just joined community college, or worked a simple job, anything but apply for the scholarship.

Even if she did take the scholarship, what if Turner just happened to assign her a different subject, one from the county jail perhaps. Maybe she'd be out and about like other kids her age, living life with Dean, with Jace.

"I'll let you go first." Sliced in his voice, an undecipherable look gracing his smooth face.

He was urging her to ask him a question.

There were hundreds if not more, that ran through her head, that she'd been dying to know the answers to before she landed herself in this predicament.

'Who is your accomplice? Is it Michelle? Where do you hide? Why did you do this to me? What is going on in your head right now?'

But strangely enough, Tahlia didn't give in to her curiosity, composing herself. Not going to give him the satisfaction.

"No. No questions."

He raised a brow in surprise, "Really? You could ask me anything you want and you choose not to?" Taking her silence as her response he continued, "Alright then. My turn, I believe."

She continued to remain silent, making Logan lean in closer, "Humor me Natalia."

Damn it.

"What do you want to ask?" She whispered robotically, hoping he wouldn't come any closer.

He blinked, his irises focussing in on her torso, "How did you get that?"

Tahlia glanced downwards, realizing the hem of her top had ridden up, exposing parts of her mid-riff. But the dread in her throat expanded as she realised he was referring to one particular chestnut gash in a sea of scars. One that rained a galleon of bottled up memories down on her form, leaving a sour taste in her mouth.

Dean had never asked her about the scars. She presumed he thought it was self-harm and left it alone out of respect.

But Logan being as ever perceptive and invasive as he was, had caught onto it.

With her wrists she dragged the material back down to cover the exposed surface, not meeting his eyes.

The last person she ever expected to open up to about a ten year old trauma was a serial killer, yet there she sat, her pulse thumping as she finally settled her gaze on a frivolous spot on Logan's face.

She'd lied to every person she had known for the last decade, if she was going to die, she didn't want to die an inveterate liar.

"My mother was an addict." Tahlia began slowly, a heavy exhale escaping her lips, "Of what? I don't know. They found all sorts of things— Heroin, ketamine, valium."

"But it was the cocaine we had come to recognize since we were kids. We were too young to know what it was, so we would call it the 'bad powder'." She winced at the word.

"We?"

She looked him right in the eye, "My sister. Her name was.."

She paused, the word caught in her mouth. It was a name she hadn't verbally spoken in ten whole years.

"Emilia." A single glistening drop of liquid trickled down her cheek.

But suddenly her lips curved up, "She was...she was beautiful. She looked nothing like me, with her straight blonde hair and those big blue eyes."

She was looking at a random speck on the table as she smiled at the memory, unaware of how intensely his eyes were trained on her actions.

And all of a sudden, the smile on her lips dissipated just as quickly as it had appeared, "For as long as I can remember, she would beat us both up, starve us. All without anyone ever knowing or suspecting any abuse."

Her eyes trailed down towards where that scar was and she sucked in a harsh breath;

"One day, when I was nine, I came back home from school and found my mother passed out on the kitchen floor. Nothing unusual about it though," She shrugged, deeply engrossed in the recollection.

"But then I went up to my room and..Emilia." She squeezed her eyes shut, "She was on the bed, not breathing. There was blood coming out of her ears."

When she opened her eyes, water cascaded down from them like a stream, "She had been hit with something hard on the head, and had a brain haemorrhage."

"She was seven." She whispered under her breath, blinking the tears away.

"Of course, I didn't know about the haemorrhage part then. I didn't know what was happening to her so I went to the kitchen, to wake her up."

Logan could see the visible tick in her jaw, "The second I woke her up, she charged at me. First with the kitchen knife," She motioned towards the gash.

"And then," She paused, "She attacked me with her heroin needle, injecting all of it into my arm."

She met his gaze again, "Next thing I know, I wake up in the hospital, being told how I almost didn't make it. Mother died of an overdose shortly after she injected me, and Emilia...she was gone too."

A sense of catharsis washed all over Tahlia. This was the first time since Dr. Scott that she'd open to somebody, even if it was a person with zero empathy or understanding of human emotions.

Logan look back at her quietly.

"I'm sorry."

That caught Tahlia by surprise, blinking up to see his lips set in a firm line as he looked at her flushed cheeks and parted mouth.

"No you're not. You can't be." She said plainly.

He licked his lip inadvertently, as he drew himself closer over the table

"No I'm not. You're right. I can't feel sorry." He rubbed his jaw, as his eyes flickered below, "But if I could, you know, feel things; I'd be sorry. Sorry for a lot of things I've done to you."

In one swift movement, his lips touched with hers.

Unlike the first time she'd been kissed by the murderer, this kiss wasn't voracious and fervent. It was barely a soft brush, a kiss Tahlia didn't return. It wasn't fueled by lust or motive, but instead, it existed as a twisted version of chaste. He could feel the wetness on her cheeks. He could feel the despair that caved in every inch of her bones. His lips weren't there to offer her passion or invade her space, but to taste her misery instead.

This kiss was melancholy at its finest.

As he pulled away, she remained still, suddenly aware of what was happening.

She breathed in, "Are you going to kill me now?"

He only nodded.

He then backed away, standing up from his seat. He approached her, all while she remained unmoving, numb.

The switchblade came into her view once again, but this time she didn't close her eyes. She was supposed to die that night ten years ago, but she didn't, and now her time had come. She welcomed death.

Her eyebrows furrowed together in sheer perplexity as Logan brought her bound wrists up to eye level, and cut through the tape.

As her arms fell down by her side, Logan took one of her hands in his and got her out of the chair, leading her towards the door on her left.

As he opened the door, Tahlia gasped.

Her eyes were met with a thick white cover that cloaked the entirety of what she assumed was the ground underneath. The overcast sky was an inky shade of night, not one single star to be seen. The moon was vanquished in the darkness before the wake of dawn.

But all that snow.. there had to have been a blizzard while she was kept tied in that other room. It suddenly clicked, that the thudding sound she kept hearing, was the snowstorm outside.

Beyond a few hundred metres of snow-blanketed land, was a cluster of coniferous trees that extended beyond sight. A forest.

A gust of frosty air hit her skin like sharp needles, as she couldn't help but wrap her arms around herself to muster warmth, her teeth chattering.

So that's why he took away the warm layers of clothing.

She turned to him, scared witless, shaking like a leaf.

"You're going to run. This is a headstart."

He elucidated.

No. Her eyes widened in bone-chilling fear.

He was going to hunt her like an animal.

She'd only begun protesting, when she felt his palm jam against her back, pushing her out of the door frame, onto the ground.

The ice pelted against her flesh stung like a motherfucker. She wailed out, the cold searing into her system.

"You have 5 minutes. Save yourself if you can kitten, you won't get 9 lives." He declared, slamming the door close with a deafening sound.