Part of me hoped he wouldn’t come.
The other part—the part I hate—scanned every face in the lobby looking for his.
When the lightsrise for intermission, Radio City exhales. People stand, stretch, buzz about the performance. Larisa looks like she’s about to levitate.
“OH. MY. GOD,” she whisper-shouts. “He’s a wizard. A cello wizard. And she—whoever arranged that counterline is a menace to society.”
I laugh, breathless. “Accurate.”
Before I can gather myself, a voice cuts through the crowd.
“Wren?”
Sophie weaves through the aisle with Liam at her shoulder, then breaks into a full smile and drags me into a hug before I can brace.
“I’m glad you came,” she says against my shoulder.
I freeze, then melt. “I…yeah. Me too.”
She pulls back to look at me properly, hands light on my arms. Her brows soften, and she gives the tiniest nod, like she’s saying,“I see you. Don’t worry.”
Behind Sophie, Liam O’Connor gives me a genuinesmile, the kind you’d expect from a captain who knows how to read a room. “Good to see you, Wren,” he says, steady.
Next to him stands a woman in her fifties, elegant in a winter wrap, pearl earrings glinting. She has the same eyes as Kieran—blue, observant, gently sharp.
“Oh, hello,” she says, stepping forward with easy confidence. “You must be Wren. I’m Kieran’s mother.” She laughs gently. “And Erin’s. And Liam’s.”
My stomach drops and soars at the same time. “Hi, Mrs. O’Connor.”
“Mary, please.” She takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. It’s not prying or performative. Just…kind.
Then there’s Dmitri Sokolov. Six-foot-four of silent Slavic intensity. Broad shoulders. Hands clasped loosely in front of him. For all we know, he could be guarding a nuclear code.
But when his gaze lands on me, he inclines his head. An acknowledgment. A quiet, “you’re safe here.”
Sophie hooks her arm lightly through mine, a small, instinctive shield, as if she can feel the panic beating against my ribs.
“You okay?” she murmurs.
I nod, even though the air feels too tight. “Just…a bit too much.”
She squeezes my hand. “I’ve got you,” she says gently. “We all do.”
Before I can answer Sophie, the air shifts, like pressure dropping before a storm. Or a compass needle snapping so hard it shivers.
My body knows before I turn.
Kieran stands a few paces back, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He looks…different. Bigger and smaller at the same time. Shoulders tense. Mouth tight. Eyes unguarded in a way that hits me like a fist.
His gaze sweeps down, then back up, taking me in like he’s trying to memorize every detail. He looks at me the way someone looks at a home they lost in a fire.
When he takes half a pace forward, Liam touches his arm lightly.
Don’t.
Kieran obeys, swallowing hard, jaw flexing, breath stuttering in the space between us. His shoulders tense. Then, so quietly I barely register it—even his lips don’t fully form the words:
“Hey, Rules.”
