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Chapter 47: A Canvas of Intimacy in the Art Room

"Kiddo, it's me," Logan's voice echoed through the room, his presence revealed as he casually grabbed the stick, the one I had wielded moments ago in a burst of self-defense.

"Logan?" I stammered, flabbergasted by the sudden revelation. The tension in the room deflated, replaced by a mix of confusion and relief. "I thought I was in the middle of a suspense thriller, waiting for a psycho serial killer to jump out and catch me off guard." I admitted, a nervous laugh escaping as I tried to process the unexpected turn of events.

Logan, now visible in the dim light, chuckled. "No psychos here, just me," he quipped, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

A wave of embarrassment washed over me as I realized the absurdity of my self-defense stance against a familiar face. "I was so caught up in my thoughts and the whole sculpture incident that I let my imagination run wild," I confessed, sheepishly lowering the stick.

Logan raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his face. "Well, at least I know you'
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