They don’t need to.
I finish my work.Lock up the cart.Tie my wet hair back.Shoulder my bag.
The hallway outside the locker room is quiet.
My pulse isn’t.
Finn waits first—hands in pockets, bouncing lightly on his toes like he’s trying to burn nervous energy through the soles of his shoes.He smiles when he sees me, but it’s a smaller smile than normal.
Atlas steps out of a doorway behind him, eyes scanning.He looks carved from stone.Heavy.Immoveable.Like he’s preparing for a fight that hasn’t come yet.
Kael emerges last, adjusting the sleeves of his hoodie.Calm on the surface, but I know him now.And that calm is hiding a storm.
“All set?”he asks.
I nod.“Ready.”
We walk out of the rink together.
It’s early evening—sky darkening, streetlights flickering on.The air is crisp, a hint of winter threading through the breeze.People bustle on the sidewalks, bundled in coats, carrying coffee, talking loudly.
A normal night in Boston.
And my last night—not forever, but for now—to prove I can choose normal.
We fall into a formation we never discussed but always use:
Kael in front.
Atlas behind.
Finn beside me.
To anyone watching, we must look like a weird celebrity entourage.Or security.Or three guys trying way too hard to impress one girl.
But we’re just...us.
A block from my building, Finn clears his throat.“We can stay outside all night.Like last night.Or we can rotate.Or we can—”
“I’ll be okay,” I say gently.
Atlas’s voice comes out low.“Don’t say that like it’s a spell.”
I look up at him.“You cleared my apartment.Twice.”
“And I’ll clear it again,” he growls.
Kael steps beside us.“Wren.This is your call.But it’s also our reality.You’re not alone unless youwantto be.That’s the difference.”
“I know,” I whisper.
We stop in front of my building.
I expect fear.
I expect shaking hands and adrenaline and that twisted-stomach feeling I get when I sense danger.
Instead...I feel something else.
