“Wren.”
It fits her. “Beautiful name.”
“It’s cheap,” she says. “Fewer letters. Fewer typos. Hard to mispronounce.”
It almost makes me laugh. I steady myself. “Let me guess your major. Engineering?” Her face doesn’t move, so I keep going. “You fixed that seam yourself?”
“I did. Needle, thread, podcast. No blood.”
“You’re good,” I say, stepping closer. “I could use hands like that in my life.”
Her brows lift. “Shabby pickup line.”
Jace muffles a laugh behind me. Someone mutters something.
The first notes of “Starboy” slam through the speakers, bright and sharp.
“Dance with me.” I tip my chin toward the living room, heat crawling up my neck.
“No.”
Another hit, low and clean.
“You don’t dance?”
“Not with you.”
The words land somewhere under my ribs. My breath goes shallow for half a second—just long enough to notice, not long enough to show.
I rake a hand through my hair, forcing the grin back into place.
“You’re the most interesting person in this house.”
She glances toward the kitchen. “Incorrect. The girl in purple is explaining bridges. She’s more interesting. And nicer. Try her.”
A hoot goes up behind me, my name stretched into a dare.
I ignore it and lift a hand toward the strand on her cheek. “This keeps escaping. Want me to?—”
She steps back a fraction. “Hands to yourself, Starboy. Consent.”
Soft. Final.
I pull my hand down. “Fair enough. No hands. One question.”
“Pass.”
I ask anyway. “What’s torque?”
Her eyes flicker. Just once—the first crack in her order. “A tendency of a force to rotate an object about an axis. τ equals r cross F. Change r, change the moment.”
The surge hits—ridiculous, triumphant, undeserved. I can feel the room lean back toward me.
There it is. I’ve got her.
“See?” I huff a laugh, warmth threading through the noise. “Most interesting person here.”
“And yet,” she says, dry, “still not dancing with you.”
