13. Chapter 13
Wren
I wake up screaming silently, my throat working but no sound emerging as I claw at phantom hands around my neck. The hotel sheets are tangled around my legs, damp with sweat. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my fingertips.
The nightmare clings to me like smoke—fragments of images dissolving as I try to grasp them. Darkness. Running. Hands around my throat. A voice that followed me through corridors that kept shifting, changing, leading nowhere.
"You aren't going to leave me, Lilliana." The voice had been so clear, so close to my ear I could feel breath against my skin. "You belong to me. You've always belonged to me."
But there had been no face. Just darkness where features should be, a void that somehow still watched me, still knew me.
I sit up, pressing my back against the headboard. The hotel room is silent except for the soft hum of the air conditioner. Dawn light filters through a gap in the curtains, painting a thin stripe of gold across the carpet.
Safe. I'm safe here.
I repeat it like a mantra as I untangle myself from the sheets and stumble to the bathroom.
The woman in the mirror looks haunted—pink hair flattened on one side, dark circles under her eyes, skin too pale.
She looks nothing like Lilliana Cain. Nothing like the sister of a monster.
I splash cold water on my face and try to shake off the lingering dread.
The clock reads 5:13 AM. No point trying to sleep again.
I shower until the hot water runs cold, scrubbing my skin raw as if I could wash away the voice from my dreams. By the time I dress for work, the sun is just starting to peek through the curtains, casting long fingers of light across the rumpled bed.
I grab my bag, triple-check that I have my room key, and head out. The morning air is cool against my face, a welcome relief from the stifling aftermath of nightmares.
The walk to Grounded takes longer from the hotel, but I don't mind. More time to clear my head. I didn't want to work today, but the routine feels necessary—something normal to cling to when everything else is spinning out of control.
But by the time I push through the café door, my heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Maya spots me immediately, her smile bright as she waves me over. "You're alive!" she signs with dramatic flair. "I was starting to think you'd been abducted by aliens."
I roll my eyes but I know she is trying to distract me from everything else that’s happening in my life. "Wouldn't aliens have better taste?"
She laughs and hands me my apron. "Marcus is in a mood today. Fair warning."
Great. Just what I need. I tie the apron around my waist and head for the espresso machine, trying to focus on the familiar routine. Grind, tamp, brew. Simple steps. Muscle memory. Don't think about Jace or Theo or masks or games or—
The bell above the door chimes. I look up, and there he is.
Jace.
But also WrathSpawn as I now know.
He catches my eye and his steps falter slightly. There's a question in his gaze as he approaches the counter, something tentative and concerned that makes my stomach flip.
"Morning," he says, his voice soft. "Black coffee and—"
"Ginger scone?" Maya finishes for him, already reaching for one.
He nods, but his eyes stay on me. "How are you?" he asks, and the genuine concern in his voice makes something inside me crack a little.
I shrug and sign, " I'm okay ."
"Are you sure?" He switches to sign language so smoothly it still surprises me. "You seemed pretty shaken up the other day."
The panic attack. Right. That's what he's worried about. Not the glitch in the game. Not the message that flashed across my screen. Just regular human concern.
I set down the pitcher I'm holding and sign, "Better. Thank you for helping."
His shoulders relax slightly. "Good. That's... good." He hesitates, then adds, "I was worried."
The sincerity in his voice makes something warm unfurl in my chest. This is WrathSpawn—the tactician, the strategist, the one who always has a plan. But it's also just Jace, awkward and earnest and genuinely concerned.
I smile at him—a real smile, not the customer service one—and sign, "I'm okay now."
He nods, looking relieved. "If you ever need anything..." He trails off, then quickly adds, "I mean, you have my number now. So."
I nod, feeling heat creep into my cheeks. I busy myself with his coffee, hyper-aware of his gaze following my movements. Does he know I'm Silence? Has he figured it out the way I figured him out? The thought makes a shiver go down my spine as I pass him his cup.
Our fingers brush, and for a second, everything else fades away—the café noise, the other customers, the constant low-grade anxiety that's become my baseline. Just his skin against mine, warm and surprisingly soft.
"Thanks," he murmurs, lingering at the counter longer than necessary. "I'll see you... around?"
I nod again, not trusting my hands to form coherent signs with the way my heart is racing.
He gives me one last look—searching, almost hopeful.
Before I can respond, the bell chimes again.
I look up to see Theo striding in, all confident swagger and easy charm.
His eyes light up when he spots me, and he changes course to head straight for the counter.
"Well, well, if it isn't Mr. Broody in the flesh," Theo drawls, shooting Jace a smirk. "I was starting to think you only existed in caffeine and shadow."
Jace lifts an eyebrow, deadpan. "And I thought you’d finally overdosed on your own ego."
The familiar banter rolls between them, and suddenly I'm hearing echoes of WrathSpawn and HexedOut's exchanges. How did I miss it before? The rhythm is identical, the dynamic unchanged whether they're discussing coffee or combat strategies.
"Nah, I’m rationing it. Like a fine wine. Or your social skills," Theo chuckles, unfazed, then turns his attention to me. His smile softens. "Morning, Sunshine."
I manage a small smile in return, hoping my face doesn't betray the storm of thoughts behind it.
Theo raises his hands and signs, his movements still awkward but improving: "You look beautiful today."
The unexpected compliment catches me off guard. It's not his usual flirtatious banter, but something more genuine. I feel heat rise to my cheeks as Maya snickers beside me.
"Smooth," Jace mutters, but there's no real bite to it.
I sign "thank you" to Theo, who beams like I've just handed him the keys to the kingdom.
"I've been practicing," he says proudly. "See I told you that YouTube is a hell of a teacher."
The reminder of Theo hunched over his phone in the middle of the night creates a warm flutter in my chest. It's sweet. The kind of effort that means something.
"Your usual?" I sign, and then demonstrate the sign for his ridiculous mocha concoction.
His eyes light up as he mimics the gesture. "That's my drink? You made a sign for it?"
I nod, fighting a smile. His enthusiasm is infectious, even through my anxiety.
"She makes signs for all the regulars," Maya chimes in. "Yours is basically 'chaos in a cup.'"
Theo laughs, the sound bright and warm. "I'm honored to be chaos incarnate."
I turn to make his drink, but not before catching the look that passes between him and Jace—something complicated I can't quite read. Do they know about each other's gaming personas? Do they realize we're all connected in ways none of us have acknowledged?
As I work, I listen to them exchange what sounds like work-related small talk. Something about a deadline, a marketing report, user engagement metrics. So they do work together. The pieces continue to click into place.
I hand Theo his drink, and he makes a point of signing "thank you" perfectly. His fingers brush mine as he takes the cup, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. The contact feels electric, just like it did with Jace.
They both turn and I watch them go, something warm and unfamiliar blooming in my chest. These men—once just customers and disembodied voices in a headset—are becoming something else. Something more. Something real. And I don’t know if that excites me more—or terrifies me.
The rest of my shift passes in a blur of coffee orders and mechanical movements.
My mind keeps circling back to the same questions: Am I making a mistake with this shoot?
Should I cancel? Am I betraying my growing feelings for Jace and Theo by doing this shoot with two strangers?
Should I tell them now, before things get even more complicated?
But every time I consider backing out, I remember the flowers in my apartment. The pendant with my real name. The message in the game. Someone is already forcing my hand, trying to expose me on their terms. At least this way, I control how and when my worlds collide.
As the afternoon crowd thins, Maya sidles up next to me, her eyes narrowed in assessment.
"Okay, spill," she signs once there's a lull. "You've been weird all day. And don't say you're fine, because I know better."
I sigh, my shoulders sagging. "Just nervous about tomorrow," I sign back.
"The shoot?" she asks, keeping her signs close to her body so customers can't see. She's the only one at Grounded who knows about my other job.
I nod.
"You know you don't have to go through with it," she signs, her expression softening. "If you're having second thoughts, just cancel. I’m sure Lorna would understand."
I consider it for a moment, imagining the relief of simply not showing up. Of letting Vanta disappear, taking one complication out of my already chaotic life.
But then what? The stalker would still be out there. My feelings for Jace and Theo would still exist. The lies would continue to pile up until they inevitably collapsed.
No. I need to see this through. I need to take control of my narrative, even if it means risking everything.
"I'm going to do it," I sign decisively. "I need to."
Maya studies me for a long moment, then nods. "Okay. But I'm coming with you. I'll wait outside if you want, but I'm not letting you do this alone."
The offer brings unexpected tears to my eyes. I blink them back and sign, "Thank you. But I'll be okay. Security is tight there."
"Still," she insists. "I'll be on standby at my place. Just in case."
I don't argue further. Having Maya nearby, even if she's not in the studio, feels like a safety net I desperately need right now.
"I’m going to tell them," I sign, making a final decision, "Jace and Theo. Everything."
Maya's eyes widen. "Everything? As in...?"
"That I'm Vanta. That I..." I hesitate, my hands faltering.
"That you like them," Maya finishes for me, a small smile playing at her lips. Completely ignoring the other elephant in the room.
I nod, heat rising to my cheeks . "Both of them," I clarify, watching carefully for judgment in her eyes.
But there's none. Just understanding and a hint of mischief. "Well, well, well," she signs with dramatic flair. "Look at you, getting all brave and honest. I'm proud of you, Wren."
The approval in her expression gives me a confidence I hadn't felt before. Maybe this is the right path. Maybe honesty, after so long in hiding, is exactly what I need.
"It could blow up in my face," I sign, voicing the fear that's been lurking beneath my resolve.
Maya shrugs. "Yeah, it could. Or it could be the best decision you've ever made. Either way, you'll finally be living your truth instead of hiding behind all these walls."
She's right. For too long, I’ve lived in fragments—Wren at the café, Vanta in the studio, Silence behind the keyboard. Each one a mask. Each one a wall. And underneath them all, the truth I keep buried deepest: Lilliana Cain.
Maybe it's time to be whole again. Whatever the consequences.