“I know,” I whisper.
“Then let us help,” Finn pleads.
“I don’t want—” My voice cuts off as my throat closes.I force a breath.“I don’t want this.”
“‘This’?”Atlas echoes.
“All of you,” I choke out.“Staring.Hovering.Waiting for me to fall apart.”
Kael’s face goes blank—his version of breaking.
“We’re not waiting for that,” he says quietly.
“You are,” I whisper.
I can practically feel the moment his heart cracks.
Finn looks physically pained.“Wren...”
Atlas doesn’t speak.
He doesn’t move.
He just watches—eyes dark, jaw locked, breathing slow like he’s swallowing the urge to grab me by the shoulders and demand answers again.
I drag in a shaky breath.“I’m trying so hard to keep it together.But you’re all so...”
Big.
Intense.
Loud.
Everywhere.
They each take a tiny stepbackwhen I say it.
All three of them.
Kael first.
Then Finn.
Then Atlas—slowest, like he hates the idea of giving me space, but hates the idea of hurting me more.
The air rushes into the room like a gust of cold wind.
I can breathe again—but it hurts.
Because distance feels like relief...
...and losing something I didn’t realize I wanted.
I wrap Atlas’s shoulder in silence, my hands steadier now that they aren’t hovering like storm clouds at my back.
But every time my fingers brush his skin, he watches me with this look—raw, wounded, confused.
Like my fear is a knife he doesn’t understand, but feels anyway.
