He straightens.His shoulders loosen.Relief washes over his face with such softness I almost miss it.
Almost.
Wren catches his gaze.
She freezes.
Only for half a second—but I see it.
And Finn sees it.
And suddenly the entire room goes silent in my head.
Because that look?
That’s not the look you give a coworker.
Or a teammate.
Or someone you waved goodbye to yesterday afternoon.
That’s a look with...memory behind it.
Slowly, Wren walks toward us.Her steps are steady but her jaw is tight.She keeps her arms close to her sides, as if afraid to disturb the air.
“Morning,” she murmurs.
Her voice is softer than usual.Not cracked.Not broken.Just...tender.
Too tender.
Finn smiles at her—small, gentle, almost shy.
And she returns it.
Barely.But it’s there.A tiny softening at the corner of her mouth she doesn’t give to anyone else.
I feel something sharp and cold twist under my ribs.
“What time did you get in?”I ask Wren.
It comes out casual.
She stiffens anyway.
“Late,” she says.
Finn’s shoulders jolt.
Wren doesn’t notice.
I do.
My jaw clenches.
I nod slowly.“You walk home?”
She hesitates.
