Kael feels it too—he’s already locked onto her, tracking her with that silent captain stare that makes rookies straighten up and veterans shut the hell up.
But Wren won’t look at any of us.
She walks to the far wall to grab a crate of tape and wraps, pretending to be busy.
Pretending she’s fine.
She’s not fucking fine.
I grab my gloves and make my way over before I think twice.
Before Kael can block me.
Before Finn can talk first.
Before I talk myself out of it.
She hears me coming—everyone does, I’m not subtle—and she stiffens.
I stop in front of her.
Close enough to see the faint tremble in her hands.
Close enough to feel the heat rolling off her body.
Close enough that one wrong move from me could break something she’s barely holding together.
I lower my voice.“Who hurt you?”
Her breath catches.
Not in fear.
But in that tight, painful way people breathe when they’re holding a scream inside.
“No one,” she whispers.
Lie.
“You’re shaking,” I say.
She hides her hands behind the crate.“I’m cold.”
Another lie.
“You’re not cold,” I snap, stepping closer.“You’re scared.”
Her eyes flash, but she still doesn’t look at me fully.“Atlas, please.I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Too bad.”
Her gaze finally lifts.
And fuck.
There it is—fear and defiance swirling together.The combo that makes me feel like I need to punch someone’s skull in just to even out the world.
I move in another inch.“Tell me.”
