KIERAN
He’s not going anywhere
Let him spend tonight thinking about it
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
DALTON
Okay
Your call
For what it’s worth? We’ve got your back
All of us
I set the phone down and lean forward, resting my forehead against Wren’s hand.
I agreed to that dare. I laughed about it with the guys. I let Reed think I was playing.
And he took it as permission.
My hands shake. I press them flat against my thighs.
This is on me. All of it.
I don’t know how to fix it. Don’t know if I can.
But I know one thing: that bet is over. Whatever comes next is on me.
28
THE STATIC RETURNS (WREN)
Warmth. Heavy, thick, muffling the back of my skull.
Then sound.
Soft rustling. Gray-green. Aubrey’s voice.
“Hey. Wren? You awake?”
I peel my eyes open. The ceiling swims into view—the familiar off-white of my dorm room, the crack in the plaster like a crooked violin bow. My blanket is tucked up to my chin.
My limbs feel full of wet sand.
Aubrey sits cross-legged on the floor beside my bed, hair in a messy bun, hoodie swallowing her frame. Dark circles under her eyes.
Relief flashes across her face. “You’re awake. Good.”
I try to sit up. The room spins. Nausea rolls through me in waves.
“Easy.” Aubrey’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Doctor said you’d be dizzy for a day or two. And probably nauseous. I have crackers if you need them.”
My head pounds. My mouth tastes like metal.
She pushes a cup toward me. “Water. From your Brita. I filled it myself.”
