34. Phase Shift （Wren） #2
“Mary, please.” She takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. It’s not prying or performative. Just…kind.
Then there’s Dmitri Sokolov. Six-foot-four of silent Slavic intensity. Broad shoulders. Hands clasped loosely in front of him. For all we know, he could be guarding a nuclear code.
But when his gaze lands on me, he inclines his head. An acknowledgment. A quiet, “you’re safe here.”
Sophie hooks her arm lightly through mine, a small, instinctive shield, as if she can feel the panic beating against my ribs.
“You okay?” she murmurs.
I nod, even though the air feels too tight. “Just…a bit too much.”
She squeezes my hand. “I’ve got you,” she says gently. “We all do.”
Before I can answer Sophie, the air shifts, like pressure dropping before a storm. Or a compass needle snapping so hard it shivers.
My body knows before I turn.
Kieran stands a few paces back, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He looks…different. Bigger and smaller at the same time. Shoulders tense. Mouth tight. Eyes unguarded in a way that hits me like a fist.
His gaze sweeps down, then back up, taking me in like he’s trying to memorize every detail. He looks at me the way someone looks at a home they lost in a fire.
When he takes half a pace forward, Liam touches his arm lightly.
Don’t.
Kieran obeys, swallowing hard, jaw flexing, breath stuttering in the space between us. His shoulders tense. Then, so quietly I barely register it—even his lips don’t fully form the words:
“Hey, Rules.”
It’s a whisper of a memory.
A whole universe packed into two syllables.
He says it like he still has the right.
My vision blurs instantly. I blink hard. It’s useless. Emotion pushes up through my chest, sharp and hot and impossible to swallow. I look away before the tears spill, but it’s too late.
He sees it. His body lurches forward a fraction, instinctive, like he wants to catch the tear before it falls. Liam’s hand tightens, holding him in place.
Around us, the crowd hums. People brushing past, lights shifting, ushers calling out last-minute warnings. The world keeps moving.
But we don’t.
For a suspended moment, it’s just us across a tiny stretch of carpet, hearts pulled tight into a knot that neither of us can cut free from.
A tangled constellation of people surrounds me—Sophie, Liam, Mary, Dmitri, Larisa—all warmth and protection and care.
But my body doesn’t react to them. It reacts to him. Always him. The ache that won’t settle. The frequency I can’t tune out. The gravity that pulls at me like muscle memory.
I have to look away again, because if I don’t, I’ll fall apart right here in the middle of Radio City Music Hall.
The second half of the concert blurs. The music is flawless—Albinoni, Vivaldi, Brahms. The lighting is unreal. The colors mesmerizing.
But I can feel him behind me. The weight of his gaze, a pressure against my spine. That soft catch in his breath when he’s trying not to say something.
Every note Erin plays reminds me of the cabin. Of the version of myself who thought she could have this—music and family and belonging. The version who didn’t know she was a bet.
I don’t turn around. If I do, I’ll see the man who held my hand in the snow and lied with every breath.
Mary invited us backstage after. To see Erin and meet Luka. To be part of this family’s orbit.
But I can’t. I can’t stand in a room making small talk while Kieran watches me fall apart. I can’t pretend we’re fine for his mother’s sake. I can’t breathe in the same space as him.
We leave before the applause fully dies.
“Come on,” I whisper to Larisa. “Let’s beat the crowds.”
“But Mary said we should come backstage—”
“I know. I just…” My voice fails. “Not tonight.”
She studies my face for a long second. Then she nods. “Okay. Another time.”
We slip out through a side aisle, the crowd spilling toward the lobby in waves of warm gold and pale green light. Everyone is buzzing, electric with post-concert glow.
Not me.
My nerves feel scraped raw.
Outside, the night has turned miserable. Rain needles sideways under the glowing RADIO CITY MUSIC HALL sign, wind shredding umbrellas that don’t stand a chance.
As we head toward the subway entrance, I turn my head back toward the street.
Kieran stands at the top of the stairs, the marquee casting red and blue ribbons of light across his face. Rain beads in his hair, soaks the shoulders of his coat. He isn’t moving.
He’s searching the crowd.
My pulse stutters.
He looks like a man bracing for impact—jaw set, breath held, eyes sweeping every face like he could will mine back into existence.
And somehow…he finds me.
For one suspended second, our eyes lock across the rain-blurred chaos.
Everything in me screams to run toward him. Everything else screams to run away.
My throat closes. My hand tightens on the railing until my knuckles go white. My chest feels like it’s caving in.
He takes one instinctive step forward. Then stops, chest rising sharply like something inside him won’t let him break the distance.
His eyes never leave mine.
I blink hard. The rain makes it easier to pretend it’s just water on my cheeks.
Larisa calls my name from below. “Wren?”
I tear my gaze away and descend into the subway, the roar of trains rising to meet me.
As the wet concrete swallows the last of the marquee light, I feel it—the exact moment the thread between us snaps.
The train doors close. The subway lurches forward.
And I let him go.