None of them ever smiled like they forgot I was watching.
None of them ever said no this way—like I’m just noise she refuses to tune into.
“Then make him decide,” I say.
Maybe I mean Theo.
Maybe I just mean—consider me.
Her eyes flash. “You do this a lot, don’t you?”
“Do what?”
“Walk in and rearrange everything.”
I brace both hands on the workstation, steel cold under my palms. “Only when it needs rearranging.”
“Or when you need entertainment.” She slings her bag onto her shoulder, movements precise. “It’s late.”
“I’ll walk you to your dorm.”
“No.”
Fuck.
The meter blinks a calm number, indifferent to the wreckage three feet away. I open my mouth. Close it. Whatever I want to say—sorry, try again, don’t look at me like that—doesn’t deserve oxygen.
She pulls on her jacket and turns toward the door.
The smile slips out again.
Quick. Unthinking. That dimple flashing like she forgot—just for a second—that she’s supposed to be careful around me.
It hits harder than the no.
Like something real I didn’t earn.
“Tell him, Wren,” I say, and my voice gives me away.
She stops. “Stop telling me what to do.”
“Right,” I say, hands up. “Right.”
She studies me for a long second, then nods, like she’s solved an equation I’ll never see.
“Goodnight, O’Connor.”
“Kieran,” I say. I don’t know why it matters. I just know I need it. “Use my name when you’re telling me no.”
That same smile ghosts back—smaller now. Contained. Still enough.
“Goodnight, Kieran.”
My name in her mouth hits like a clean shot to open ice—quiet, brutal, perfect.
I don’t move. I just take it.
She slips out. The latch clicks shut.
