22. Chapter 22
Wren
I shower quickly, letting the hot water soothe my aching muscles while trying not to dwell on the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface.
When I emerge, Jace and Theo are already dressed and discussing logistics in low voices.
They fall silent when they see me, and something in their expressions makes my heart skip a beat.
"We'll stop by our places on the way to yours," Jace says, his voice gentle but firm. "Pack enough for a few days at least."
I nod, grateful they've already worked out a plan. The thought of returning to my apartment sends a ripple of unease through me, but having them there makes it bearable.
We take a cab to Theo's place first—a surprisingly stylish apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows and modern furniture. He throws things haphazardly into a bag, pausing occasionally to hold up two shirts and ask my opinion with a wink.
"Trying to impress me?" I sign slowly, raising an eyebrow.
"Always," he replies with a grin that doesn't quite hide the concern in his eyes.
From there, we take Theo's car to Jace's minimalist apartment where he efficiently packs a duffel bag with clothes, toiletries, and his laptop. I notice he also slips what looks like a small toolkit into the side pocket.
The drive to my apartment is quiet, tension building with each mile. I feel myself withdrawing, retreating into the protective shell I've perfected over the past eighteen months. Jace notices, his hand finding mine in the backseat, his thumb tracing soothing circles on my palm.
"We'll be right there with you," he says softly. "Every step."
When we finally arrive, I freeze at my own front door, keys clutched so tightly in my hand that the edges dig painfully into my palm. Theo stands on one side of me, Jace on the other, twin pillars of strength flanking me.
"We'll go in first," Jace says, gently taking the keys from my trembling fingers.
I shake my head. This is my home. My battle. I need to face it.
I take the keys back and unlock the door myself, pushing it open with a deep breath. The familiar scent of my apartment washes over me. I brace myself for the sight of wilting roses and black lilies.
But there's nothing.
The counter where the flowers had been is empty. Clean. As if they were never there at all.
I freeze in the doorway, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. This is worse somehow—this erasure of evidence, this gaslighting of my own memory. It means they came back. They were here again, in my space, touching my things.
Jace notices my reaction immediately. "What is it?" he asks, his voice tight with concern.
I point to the counter, my hands shaking too much to sign properly.
"The flowers were there," Theo interprets, understanding dawning in his eyes. "And now they're gone."
Jace's expression hardens. "Stay here," he says, already moving past me into the apartment. "Both of you."
Theo pulls me back against his chest, his arms wrapping around me protectively as Jace methodically checks each room, opening closets, looking under the bed, checking the bathroom.
The thoroughness of his search should be comforting, but all I can think about is someone being here, removing the evidence of their intrusion, playing with me like a cat with a mouse.
"Clear," Jace says finally, returning to the living room. His face is grim. "But someone was definitely here. Recently."
"How can you tell?" Theo asks.
"The window in the bedroom is unlocked," Jace replies. "And there's a scuff mark on the sill that looks fresh. Fire escape access."
My stomach drops. I always keep that window locked. Always.
"I need to go out for a bit," Jace says, his voice carefully controlled. "Get some supplies. Will you be okay with Theo for a little while?"
I nod, though the thought of either of them leaving makes anxiety flutter in my chest.
"I won't be long," he promises, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Lock the door behind me. Don't open it for anyone but me."
After he leaves, Theo helps me settle back into my own apartment, a strange experience after avoiding it for days.
He moves with careful efficiency, checking locks, testing windows, familiarizing himself with the layout.
I watch him, drawing comfort from his presence even as my eyes keep darting to the empty counter where the flowers had been.
"Hey," he says softly, catching my nervous glance. "Come here."
He pulls me into his arms, and I go willingly, burying my face against his chest. His heartbeat is steady under my ear, a rhythmic reminder that I'm not alone anymore.
"We've got this," he murmurs into my hair. "You've got this. You're stronger than you know, Wren."
I pull back just enough to sign slowly, my fingers and hands forming the words clearly so he can understand, his knowledge of sign language still being limited, "How can you be so sure?"
His smile is gentle but fierce. "Because I've seen you.
The real you. Not just the barista or the cam girl or the sniper.
The woman who survived what should have broken her.
The woman who built a new life from scratch.
The woman who faces her fears even when she's terrified.
" He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
"That's not just strength. That's fucking superpower territory. "
A knock at the door makes me jump. Theo immediately positions himself between me and the entrance.
"It's me," Jace calls through the door.
Theo checks the peephole before opening it. Jace enters carrying several bags, his expression determined.
"First things first," he says, pulling out what looks like a heavy-duty metal bar from one of the bags. "New lock. State of the art. No one's getting through this."
I watch as he installs it, the new lock sliding into place with a satisfying click that makes me feel marginally safer.
When he finishes, he turns to me, his expression softening. "I made a call while I was out," he says carefully. "To Dr. Levine. She had a cancellation tomorrow morning. If you want, I can take you."
I hesitate, anxiety twisting in my stomach at the thought of therapy, of trying to explain what I can't remember, of facing the trauma I've been running from.
But then I look at these two men—Jace with his quiet strength, Theo with his unwavering belief in me—and something shifts inside me. Maybe it's time to face whatever's in the darkness of my memory, with them beside me.
I raise my hands and sign, "Yes. I'll go."
Relief washes over Jace's face. "I'll be with you the whole time," he promises. "Whatever you need."
"And I'll be here when you get back," Theo adds. "We're tag-teaming this support thing."
Their easy coordination, the way they complement each other in their care for me, makes my heart swell. Whatever this is between us—this strange, beautiful triangle we're forming—it feels right in a way I never expected.
We order takeout and eat on my couch, the three of us pressed together in a tangle of limbs that feels surprisingly natural. After dinner, Theo insists on a movie—"something mindless and explosive"—to take our minds off everything else.
As the film plays, I find myself nestled between them, Jace's arm around my shoulders, Theo's hand resting on my thigh. The simple comfort of their touch grounds me, keeps the anxiety at bay.
Later, when we prepare for bed, there's a moment of awkwardness as we navigate the logistics of three people in my queen-sized bed.
But then Jace simply pulls back the covers and Theo dims the lights, and we fall into place as if we've done this a hundred times before—me in the middle, their bodies creating a protective barrier between me and the world.
As I drift toward sleep, cocooned in their warmth, I realize that for the first time since I lost my voice, I don't feel alone in the silence. Whatever comes tomorrow—the therapy, the investigation, the looming threat of my stalker—I'll face it with them beside me.
Unknown
I stand in the darkness of her bedroom, watching them sleep.
They look so peaceful, so fucking content with themselves.
Lilliana—my Lilliana—nestled between them like she belongs there.
Her pink hair splayed across the pillow, her body curved toward the one on her left.
Jace, I think his name is. The other one, Theo, has his arm draped possessively across her waist.
It makes me sick.
The new lock they installed was a joke. I almost laughed when I saw it. Amateur hour. It barely slowed me down—five minutes, tops. A skill I perfected years ago when my best friend and I would break into summer homes for fun. We were young, reckless, stupid. But effective.
I move silently around the bed, studying their faces in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
They think they can protect her. They think they deserve her.
After everything I've invested in Lilliana—resources, planning, all that fucking time—these two idiots waltz in and think they can claim her?
I know her better than they ever will.
Taking the flowers was a calculated move. Let her question her own memory. Let her wonder if she imagined the danger. And now, seeing these two here with her, I'm glad I made that choice. It's forced her hand, pushed her closer to them, making my next move all the more devastating.
Because I'm going to take her from them.
Not yet, though. First, I want them to sweat. I want them to think they've won, that they've created this perfect little sanctuary where she's safe and loved. I want them to lower their guard just enough. And then I'll show them how easily their world can shatter.
Just like mine almost did.
I could take her now. She's right there, barely three feet away. But that's not the plan. The plan requires patience. Precision. The kind of methodical execution that separates professionals from amateurs.
Besides, I want her to come willingly. In the end, she'll understand that I'm the only one who truly sees her. The only one who ever has. The only one who can protect her.
I move to the kitchen, pulling a small notepad from my pocket. The pen makes no sound as I write, my handwriting deliberately neat and controlled. When I'm finished, I place the note on the counter where she'll find it in the morning. Right where the flowers were.
"I MISS YOUR VOICE, LILLIANA. SOON."
Simple. Direct. A reminder that I know who she really is. That I've been close enough to hear her. And exactly how long I’ve been watching her. That "soon" is a promise, not a threat.
I take one last look around the apartment, my gaze lingering on the bedroom door. Part of me wants to stay, to watch over her the way I have so many nights before. But discipline wins out. There will be time for that later, when she's where she belongs.
With me.
They think a new lock will keep me out. They think their presence will scare me away. They don't understand that some bonds can't be broken by simple barriers or bodyguards. They don't understand what she means to me.
But they will. Soon enough, they'll understand everything.
I disappear out the door and back into the shadows, already planning my next move. The game is evolving now, becoming more complex with these new players. But that's fine. I've always enjoyed a challenge.
And I've never lost a game I truly wanted to win.