“Atlas—”
“It’s fine,” he snaps, but he’s looking atme, not the injury.
My pulse stutters.
Kael’s voice cuts in, low and dark.“If he’s hurt, fix it.”
“I’m trying,” I say.
But my hands are trembling.
I try to hide it—curling my fingers, adjusting my grip, repositioning—but it’s useless.Finn sees everything.His pacing stops.
“Wren?”he asks softly.
I shake my head.“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking again,” he whispers.
My throat tightens.“It’s cold,” I say again, because I don’t know what other excuse to use.
“It’s not cold,” Atlas mutters.
“Wren.”Finn steps closer.“Talk to us.Please.We know you don’t want to, but maybe we can help.”
I swallow hard and try to breathe through the rising pressure.“I’m working.”
Kael shifts his weight, jaw ticking.“We’re not trying to overwhelm you.”
“You are,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
Silence snaps through the room like a whip.
Finn’s eyes widen.
Atlas straightens.
Kael goes stone still.
Shit.
I back up, bumping into the counter behind me.
Kael takes a step forward automatically—like he’s trying to fix it, fixme—but the second he does, something inside my chest clenches painfully.
I flinch.
Barely.
But I do.
Kael freezes mid-step.
Finn’s breath leaves him in a quiet curse.
Atlas’s eyes sharpen like he’s watching the most important moment of his life.
“Wren,” Kael says carefully, the way someone approaches a skittish animal.“We’re not here to scare you.”
