Hell if I know.
I catch up, heart pounding, ankles wobbling on the pavement. “Jett.”
He pivots slowly, like he’s giving himself time to build the wall I used to know how to climb. His gaze meets mine, babyblues darkened by years and shadows, and I swear my body remembers him before my mind can catch up. The charge between us is instant, vicious, alive.
“I don’t need you defending me,” I snap, even though my voice cracks. “I’m not yours to protect.”
That makes him huff a humorless laugh. “Could’ve fooled me, Wren. Looked like you needed saving when that asshole had his hands on you.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “I had it handled.”
“Right,” he grits out, stepping closer, his chest rising and falling harshly beneath a fitted gray tee.
Up close, I drink him in, even though I shouldn’t. His body is all hard edges, carved from years of war and work. His jaw lined with intentional scruff, his shoulders impossibly wider. The scar—my scar—still slashes his lip, a reminder of who we once were.
My breath stutters, and I hope he doesn’t notice.
“Handled it so well, you threw a drink instead of a punch. That’s not the Wren I knew.”
“That Wren’s gone,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
His jaw tics, and I see it—hurt buried beneath fury. The same hurt that mirrors my own.
“Yeah,” he rasps, roughened like gravel, eyes raking over me. I don’t miss the subtle way his lips twitch when his gaze lands on the necklace I still wear. “She sure as hell is.”
The words slice, sharper than any slap, and for a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The air between us crackles, charged with things unsaid, with everything we once were and everything we can’t be again.
But God help me, I want to touch him. To hate him and need him in the same breath.
Instead, I lift my chin, armor back in place. “I’m home now…”
“For now,” he mumbles, interrupting me.
“For good,” I snap.
“We’ll see about that.”
I swallow roughly. “You stay in your lane, and I’ll stay in mine.”
His eyes flare in the dim light. “Fine by me.”
But the way he looks at me like he’s fighting himself tells me it’s anything but fine.
Maybe coming back to Silo Bay was a mistake.
Chapter 3
Wren
Myeyelidsflutteropen.Darkness presses down, heavy and suffocating. My left eye throbs. A searing ache blooms beneath the lid. Fingers reach up, and I flinch—tender, swollen, raw.
Wetness coats my skin. I drag my hand back. Even in the dim lighting, I know what it is. Blood.
Head spinning. Breath hitching.What time is it? How did I get here?The cool bite of tile against my spine tells me I’m on the bathroom floor. But why?
The silence is too thick. My chest seizes. Did someone break in?
I hold still, ears straining. Nothing. No footsteps. No voices. Just me. And this ache that feels like it’s splitting me open.
