I grab her backpack, the one Finn haphazardly stuffed last night, and set it beside her.“We have to go in today.”
“To the rink?”she asks.
“And Ops.”I sit on the edge of the coffee table across from her.“They want statements.”
Her shoulders stiffen.“All of us?”
“Yes.”
She exhales through her nose.“Okay.”
“You don’t have to talk yet,” Finn says quietly.“We can tell them first—”
“No.”Wren shakes her head, a flicker of steel returning to her voice.“I’ll give my statement.”
Atlas frowns.“Wren.You don’t have to—”
“I do.”She swallows.“Last night...happened to me.I’m telling them myself.”
I look at her—really look.
She’s tired.
Shaken.
Not steady yet.
But she’s choosing to stand anyway.
A spark of pride hits my chest hard.
“Then we’ll be there with you,” I say.
She nods, eyes softening.
***
The rink is alreadybuzzing when we walk in.
Too many voices.
Too many eyes.
Too much tension in the air for a normal morning.
Wren walks between us—Finn on her left, Atlas on her right, me half a step ahead.Not shielding her.Surrounding her.
She keeps her gaze straight ahead, jaw set, posture controlled.
The moment we cross the threshold toward the players’ hallway, the room shifts.
Conversations stop.
Stares lock onto her.
Every guy on the team freezes like someone cut the power.
Rowan is the first to speak.
