33. Chapter 33
Wren
I wake to the sound of arguing. The voices filter through the fog of sleep, pulling me reluctantly toward consciousness.
"They let this happen!" Maya's voice, sharp with accusation. "How can you possibly think she's safe with them?"
"Maya, please—" That's Jace, his voice strained with exhaustion.
"No, you don't get to 'Maya, please' me. She almost died yesterday!"
I force my eyes open, blinking against the harsh hospital lighting.
The pain in my head has dulled to a manageable throb, and my thoughts feel clearer than they have since I collapsed.
The room gradually comes into focus—sterile white walls, beeping monitors, and four people who haven't noticed I'm awake.
Maya stands near the foot of my bed, her finger jabbing accusingly at Jace and Theo, who look utterly destroyed.
Their shoulders slump with exhaustion, their faces haggard.
The officer Detective Rivera promised stands just inside the doorway, looking uncomfortable at being caught in this domestic drama.
"She was safe with us until we screwed up," Theo says, his voice hollow. "We know that. Trust me, we know."
"Oh, you know?" Maya's laugh is bitter. "That's great. Really comforting. You know you failed her, but hey, why not give you another chance? No, she can stay with me from now on."
The devastation on their faces makes my chest ache.
They look broken, like they're carrying the weight of what happened to me on their shoulders.
And maybe they should—they did lie to me.
But the naked guilt in their expressions tells me they're punishing themselves far more effectively than Maya ever could.
"I'm… staying in… my own… apartment," I say slowly, my voice still rough and unfamiliar, but stronger than before.
All four heads whip toward me, eyes wide with surprise.
"Wren!" Maya rushes to my side, taking my hand. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"
"Better," I rasp, then switch to signing when the effort of speaking becomes too much. "Much better. And I heard what you were saying."
Jace and Theo approach cautiously, as if afraid I'll order them away. The hope and fear warring in their eyes makes my heart twist.
"I'm staying in my apartment," I sign again, my movements deliberate. "I'm not going to let him take my independence away from me. Not again."
"Him?" Theo asks, his voice careful. "You mean the stalker?"
I nod, then immediately regret it as pain lances through my skull. "I remember everything now," I sign. "I told the police yesterday."
"They questioned us too," Jace says, his fingers doing that anxious tapping against his thigh. "About the evidence we collected, the security footage. They're taking it seriously."
"Good," I sign. "Because I'm not running anymore. I'm not hiding."
Maya frowns, her protective instincts clearly on high alert. "Wren, be reasonable. After what happened—"
"After what happened, I need to reclaim my life," I cut her off, my signs sharp and definitive. "I need to be me again. Not a victim. Not someone who needs constant protection."
"But—" Maya starts.
"I don't want to talk about him anymore," I sign, frustration making my movements jerky. "I've spent almost two years of my life defined by what happened to me. I just want to be normal. Or as normal as I can be."
Jace and Theo exchange a look that speaks volumes. I can see the struggle in their faces—the desire to protect me warring with the recognition that I need my autonomy.
"We understand," Jace says quietly. "Whatever you decide, we'll support you."
Maya makes a sound of disbelief. "You can't be serious! After everything that's happened, you're just going to let her—"
The door opens, cutting her off mid-sentence. Dr. Reynolds enters, eyebrows raised at the volume of the conversation.
"I can hear you from the nurses' station," he says, his tone mild but firm. "If you can't keep it down, I'll have to ask you to leave." His eyes focus on Maya. "The patient needs rest, not stress."
Maya huffs, crossing her arms but falling silent.
Dr. Reynolds approaches my bed, checking the monitors before turning his attention to me. "How are you feeling this morning? Any nausea? Dizziness? Visual disturbances?"
I shake my head carefully, mindful of the pain. "Just a headache," I sign, with Maya translating.
"That's to be expected," he says, making notes in my chart. "Your CT scan from last night looks good. If you continue to remain stable, we should be able to discharge you this afternoon."
Relief washes through me. "Today?" I sign, hardly daring to believe it.
"Yes, but with strict instructions for home care," Dr. Reynolds cautions. "You'll need to rest, avoid screens and reading for a few days, and try to get as much sleep as you can. Concussions are serious business."
I nod, already mentally preparing for the argument about who will be staying with me.
Dr. Reynolds turns to the others. "I suggest you all go home, get some proper rest and showers. By the time you return, Miss Maddox should be ready for discharge."
Maya opens her mouth to protest, but Dr. Reynolds holds up a hand. "That wasn't a suggestion. You won't help her by collapsing from exhaustion yourselves."
Theo looks like he might argue, but Jace places a hand on his arm, stopping him. "You're right, doctor. We could use a few hours to regroup."
They gather their things reluctantly, Maya still glaring daggers at Jace and Theo. The guys approach my bed before leaving, their movements hesitant, as if unsure of their welcome.
"We'll be back in a few hours," Jace promises, his eyes searching mine. "To take you home."
"We'll bring fresh clothes," Theo adds, his hand hovering over mine before gently squeezing my fingers.
"Thank you," I sign, offering them a small smile. Despite everything, the sight of them preparing to leave creates a hollow feeling in my chest. "I'll be here."
Maya is the last to leave, her expression still troubled. "Call me if you need anything," she insists. "Anything at all."
Once they're gone, the silence in the room feels oppressive.
Dr. Reynolds completes his examination and leaves me with instructions to rest. But rest is impossible.
My mind races with everything that's happened—the memories that have returned, the revelations about Levi, the look on Jace’s and Theo's faces.
The hours drag by in a blur of nurses checking vitals, more tests, and the relentless ticking of the wall clock. I drift in and out of sleep, never fully resting. Every time I close my eyes, I see Levi's face, feel his hands around my throat.
A knock on the door startles me from a light doze.
I expect another nurse or doctor, maybe even Jace and Theo returning early.
Instead, a young woman in a fitted black suit enters.
Her long dark hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail that falls past her shoulders, and though she's attractive in a cool, polished way, there's something about her that immediately sets me on edge. Law enforcement, definitely.
"Lilliana Cain?" she asks, her voice professional but with a subtle warmth. "I'm Agent Juliette Voss from the FBI."
I nod, gesturing for her to come in.
She moves with practiced grace, settling into the chair Jace had occupied earlier. "I understand you're feeling better today," she says, studying me with intelligent eyes. "I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me."
I hesitate when I start to sign, not sure if she will understand but when she doesn’t interupt I have to assume she does, "It’s Wren Maddox. That’s my legal name now, I don’t go by Lilliana Cain anymore. The police told you what I remembered?"
"Yes," she confirms, her hands remaining still in her lap. "They passed along your statement and the evidence your partners provided. But I wanted to speak with you personally about Lucien."
My brother's name on her lips sends a chill through me.
"I've met Lucien," she continues, her gaze never leaving mine. "I was part of the team that captured him."
"Then you know he's dangerous," I sign.
Something flickers across her face—an emotion I can't quite identify.
"I know exactly what he is, Miss Cain," she says, her voice taking on a strange intensity.
My jaw tightens at her deliberate use of my old name.
"No matter what Levi may have told you, Lucien is a cold-hearted killer. A true sociopath."
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. There's something odd about her approach, something in the way she speaks about my brother that feels... different.
"You mentioned Lucien wasn't responsible for the women?" she asks, leaning forward slightly. "That Lucien was framed for those particular murders?"
I nod cautiously.
"And you believe him?" There's a sharpness to her question that makes me uneasy.
"I remember what he told me," I sign carefully. "That they started killing together—vigilante justice. Then Levi began targeting women who looked like me."
Agent Voss's expression doesn't change, but I sense a shift in her energy. "That's a convenient narrative, isn't it? Splitting the crimes between them, making Lucien seem less... monstrous."
I frown, confused by her tone. "I'm just telling you what I remember. Until recently I had thought it was him who tried to kill me, I hadn’t been able to remember Levi or the attack."
"Memory is a tricky thing," she says, her voice softer now. "Especially traumatic memory. It can be influenced, manipulated, even fabricated entirely. The mind protects itself in strange ways."
My fingers tense, ready to defend my recollection, but she continues before I can respond.
"Tell me, did you ever suspect your brother? Before his arrest, did you ever see signs of what he was capable of?"
The question catches me off guard. I think back, trying to separate what I actually remember from what I've been told about Lucien since his capture.
"No," I sign honestly. "He was always protective of me. Sometimes controlling, but I never thought..."