I nod once, tamping down the urge to step closer, to touch her, to fix whatever put that look in her eyes.
“Take it easy today,” I tell her.“If you need more time in the training room—”
“I said I’m fine,” she interrupts.
The words are sharp, but her voice isn’t.
Her voice is fragile.
She flinches right after saying it, like she didn’t mean it to sound that way.
I lift my hands slowly, palms out.“Okay.You’re fine.”
I don’t say it sarcastically.I don’t challenge her.
I accept it.
Her breath catches like she expected a fight and doesn’t know what to do now that she isn’t getting one.
She steps around me, heading toward the trainers’ office.But halfway down the hall, she pauses and looks back.
“For what it’s worth,” she says quietly, eyes on the floor, “I wasn’t...scared of you.”
That’s a lie.
I know a lie when I hear one.
But she’s trying.She thinks she owes me reassurance.
I shake my head.“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“I do,” she whispers.“I just...can’t.”
Then she turns away again, shoulders tight, head down like she’s trying to fold into herself.
Something in me twists painfully.
I want to follow her.
I want to ask what’s wrong.
I want to know who put that haunted look in her eyes.
I want to tear the world apart until she feels safe again.
Instead, I step back into the film room and shut the door.
Because she asked for space.
And because if I keep pushing, I’ll lose her completely.
But the second the door closes, I lean both palms against it and bow my head.
Because something is happening to Wren Harper.
Something she’s hiding.
And if I don’t figure out what it is soon...
