He meets my eyes and understands what I’m asking: no guesses, no embellishments, no protective exaggerations to make us move faster.Just what she told him.
“His name is Adrian Frost,” Finn says.“They were together in Denver.He’s also her ex skating partner from before her injury.Their relationship turned ugly.Not...physical.”He swallows, glancing at Atlas, then back to me.“Her words.Not physical.But controlling.Persistent.He made himself present even when he wasn’t in the room.He wouldn’t stop contacting her after she left.He wants access and he knows how to get it.”
Atlas’s fingers drum once on the counter.“He has her number.”
“Yeah,” Finn says quickly.“She didn’t change it when she moved.He already had it.It’s not new.”
Good.That removes a whole tree of assumptions.I file it.
“Anything else?”I ask.
Finn shakes his head.“That’s as far as she went.Basics.I didn’t push.”
I hold his stare a beat and nod once.“Right call.”
Atlas tips his glass and watches the amber sink.“How long in Denver?”
“She didn’t say,” Finn answers.
Atlas’s nostrils flare.“How long since she left?”
“She didn’t say that either,” Finn admits.He looks wrecked by the admission, like not knowing enough proves he failed a test no one told him about.“She told me what she could.Last night was...hard.”
“Last night was enough,” I say.“You got us to today.”
Finn swallows like the words land somewhere tender.Atlas looks away; he doesn’t say it, but he agrees.
I lay the initial grid in my head, clean lines and empty squares.Name: Adrian Frost.Past location: Denver.Relationship: controlling, persistent.Current capability: access to her phone.Current proximity: unknown.Confirmed tonight: fear response on contact, freeze response to buzz, willingness to use safety word and accept help.
Atlas’s jaw ticks.“He doesn’t get to keep access.”
“He has it now,” I say.“Removing it doesn’t change the history.”
“Then we bury him under new habits,” Atlas growls.
“We will,” I say.“But first: risk assessment.”
Finn’s knee bounces faster.“You think he’s here?In Boston?”
“We don’t know where he is,” I say, refusing to hand the room a fear it will eat.“We also don’t assume distance equals safety.He doesn’t have to be here to keep pressure on her.But if he is?”I let that hang without heat.“Then our plan adjusts.”
Atlas drains his second pour and stares at the sink like it said something offensive.“If he shows up, I’m done talking.”
“I know,” I say.
Finn’s mouth twists.“And I’m done pretending I’m fine.”
“I know,” I say again.
They look at me like I’m supposed to be the one who’s fine.I’m not.I’m just good at carrying it with fewer cracks.
“Ground rules,” I say.
Atlas’s attention snaps to me.Finn stills.
“Number one: no secrets from Wren,” I say.“We move at her speed.We don’t make decisions that touch her body or her day without her consent.No ambushes.No dragging her toward anything because our fear is louder than hers.”
Finn nods immediately, relief obvious in the loosen of his shoulders.Atlas stares at me, jaw set, then gives one tight nod.“Fine.But if she’s in danger—”
