“It’s not confirmed,” I say softly.“Ops ran gait mapping, height comparison, movement analysis.It’s not enough for a full ID.”
She finally blinks.“But...it’s him.”
Her voice—raw, thin—unravels something under my sternum.
“Wren,” I say.“It’s a partial match.”
She shakes her head once, small.“I know how he stands.I know how he watches.”
Finn curses under his breath.Atlas’s jaw ticks hard enough I hear the grind of his teeth.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, leveling my voice.
“I need you to hear everything I’m about to say.”
She turns her eyes to me—wet, terrified, determined.
“First,” I say, “you did nothing wrong.”
Her breath stutters.
“Second,” I continue, steady, controlled, “this doesn’t mean he’s gotten close.This doesn’t mean he’s found your address.It only means he might have been at the game.It’s one sighting in a packed arena.”
Finn squeezes her hand.“And we’re not letting him get any closer.”
Atlas moves to her other side.“He won’t touch you.”
Her eyes flick to him, then to Finn, then back to me.
“What do we do?”she asks, voice trembling.
“We tighten everything,” I say.“Security.Movement.Routine.You won’t walk anywhere alone—not to your car, not into the rink, not to your building.”
She swallows.“Last night I slept.And now—”
“And now you will again,” I say, firm enough that she looks up fast.
Her eyes shine.
“We’re adjusting,” I add.“Not retreating.”
Atlas nods once.“He wants you scared.Don’t give him that.”
Finn’s knee bumps hers softly.“We’re here.All of us.”
Wren’s throat closes for a moment.She presses a hand to her sternum, breathing carefully, like she’s not sure if the air is allowed to stay in her lungs.
“I hate this,” she whispers.“I hate that he’s still—”
“You’re allowed to hate it,” I say quietly.“You’re allowed to feel everything you’re feeling right now.”
Her eyes fill.She wipes at one with the back of her hand, embarrassed.
“Don’t,” Atlas murmurs, kneeling beside her.“Don’t hide that.”
Finn’s voice is soft.“Let us help.”
Her voice breaks.“I don’t want you in danger.”
