Chapter 19: Wren, Then
The rink is empty exceptfor us—the way Adrian always insists.
He says we work better alone.
He says we don’t need witnesses.
He says distractions ruin excellence.
Sometimes I think he just doesn’t want anyone else seeing the way he talks to me.
“Again,” Adrian snaps, pacing a tight line across the ice.
My legs are shaking from the last hour.My lungs burn.Sweat stings my eyes.
“Adrian...we’ve done this pass fifty times,” I say, breathless.
He stops.Turns.
His smile is the kind that isn’t a smile at all.“And it’ll be fifty-one when you get it right.”
I swallow.
We move into starting position—his hands gripping my waist, mine resting lightly on his shoulders.It should feel familiar.Comfortable.Safe.
But lately, every touch feels like a warning.
“Ready,” he says.
I nod even though I’m not.
He lifts.
For a second, I’m weightless.
Then his hand slips—just barely—and I come down harder than I should, landing on his thigh instead of the ice.Not a real fall.Not dangerous.
But his face twists like I’ve humiliated him.
“Seriously?”he snaps, stepping back.“You’re not even trying.”
