4
CONTROL VARIABLES (KIERAN)
If Wren Marin isn’t in class, she’s in the library.
Not a guess. A read. Same way I read a breakout before it happens.
I’m used to a certain rhythm when it comes to girls: a look, a smile, a spark that hits back fast. Wren Marin doesn’t do any of it. She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t fluster. Doesn’t adjust. She corrects my math and walks away, leaving my brain to circle the empty space.
I can usually read people in a heartbeat—that’s my edge. She gives me nothing to play with. Silence where applause should be. My skin hates it.
So yeah. I’m irritated. And curious. And it’s way too early in the day for both.
I take the path behind the library and spot Theo by the café entrance.
Glasses, messy hair, broad shoulders he doesn’t bother selling. A guy who doesn’t perform and somehow gets noticed anyway.
I’ve seen how Wren tracks him—quiet, hungry, precise.Like her decision’s already in ink and my name wasn’t even on the ballot.
Isabelle is talking at him, practically preening—laugh all breath and eyelashes, body angled in, hair arranged just so. It’s the version she uses when she’s hunting.
Theo looks…cornered. Not exactly flustered. Just politely uncomfortable, like he’s waiting for an exit to appear. He shifts, and his jacket pulls tight across his shoulders.
Solid. Trained.
That doesn’t track. I’ve never seen him in the gym. Whatever built that body happened somewhere else, on a different schedule, with no audience.
And that might be my problem.
Before I can process the dissonance, he spots me.
“Oh—hey.” His whole posture loosens, relief softening the line of his posture. “Good to see you, man. Looking forward to working on the project with you and Wren.” He says it warmly, genuinely, like rivalry isn’t even part of his internal vocabulary.
I clap his arm. Solid. Easy. The kind of contact that makes it annoying how immediately likable he is.
“Yeah,” I say. “Same. See you in class.”
He jogs down the steps, hair bouncing, already gone.
I watch Isabelle watch him like she’d like to set fire to the sidewalk under his feet.
For the first time, it occurs to me that this would be a lot easier if Theo were an asshole.
“Didn’t think engineers were your flavor,” I say flatly. “Figured you leaned more…existentialist.”
Her mouth tips at the corner. Not quite a smile. “Tastes evolve.” Her gaze lingers on Theo a beat longer, then slides back to me. “But our agreement is still intact.”
Something shifted. Isabelle doesn’t reassure unless she’s already clocked a change.
“You’re taking your academics very seriously these days,” she continues. “New priorities. New partners.”
It’s delivered lightly. It isn’t.
I don’t like that she noticed. I like even less that she’s right.
“Maybe it’s time,” I say.
She exhales—almost a laugh. “Then I hope you’re prepared for what that attracts.”
