Chapter 9 Atlas
She looks different today.
Not physically.
Physically, she still looks like the softest thing that’s ever walked into this godforsaken building—too pretty, too delicate, too breakable.
But her eyes?
Her eyes are wrong.
Wren Harper walks out of the training room with that careful, empty expression people get when they’re trying not to drown, and it hits me low and hard in a way I don’t fucking like.
Or understand.
I should be getting ready for practice.
I should be wrapping my sticks, tightening my laces, thinking about the guy I’m supposed to slam into the boards tonight.
Instead, I’m watching her.
Watching the way she moves like someone punched the air out of her.
Watching how she doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes.
Watching the way Finn’s smile fades the second she brushes past him.
He looks at me.
I look back.
We don’t need words.
We both know something happened.
Kael feels it too—he’s already locked onto her, tracking her with that silent captain stare that makes rookies straighten up and veterans shut the hell up.
But Wren won’t look at any of us.
She walks to the far wall to grab a crate of tape and wraps, pretending to be busy.
Pretending she’s fine.
She’s not fucking fine.
I grab my gloves and make my way over before I think twice.
Before Kael can block me.
Before Finn can talk first.
Before I talk myself out of it.
She hears me coming—everyone does, I’m not subtle—and she stiffens.
I stop in front of her.
Close enough to see the faint tremble in her hands.
Close enough to feel the heat rolling off her body.
Close enough that one wrong move from me could break something she’s barely holding together.
I lower my voice. “Who hurt you?”
Her breath catches.
Not in fear.
But in that tight, painful way people breathe when they’re holding a scream inside.
“No one,” she whispers.
Lie.
“You’re shaking,” I say.
She hides her hands behind the crate. “I’m cold.”
Another lie.
“You’re not cold,” I snap, stepping closer. “You’re scared.”
Her eyes flash, but she still doesn’t look at me fully. “Atlas, please. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Too bad.”
Her gaze finally lifts.
And fuck.
There it is—fear and defiance swirling together. The combo that makes me feel like I need to punch someone’s skull in just to even out the world.
I move in another inch. “Tell me.”
Her voice cracks. “I said no.”
Something in me goes still.
Not angry.
Not frustrated.
Alert.
She’s protecting someone.
She’s hiding something.
Something bad.
Something dangerous.
“Fine,” I say, even though it’s the farthest thing from fine. “You don’t want to talk about it?”
Her shoulders slump in relief.
“But listen to me,” I add.
Her head snaps up.
I lean down, bringing my face level with hers. My voice drops into the low, dark place it only goes when I’m dead serious.
“If someone touched you...”
My jaw clenches.
“...you tell me their name.”
“Atlas—”
“And I’ll handle it.”
Her breath stutters.
“No talking. No questions. No witnesses.”
I straighten slightly, eyes locked on hers.
“You tell me, and I’ll make it go away.”
She swallows hard, throat bobbing. “That’s... not reassuring.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Her pulse is hammering in her neck.
I can practically feel her heartbeat from where I’m standing.
Then—
Kael’s voice booms from across the room. “Atlas.”
I grit my teeth and step back.
Wren immediately exhales like she’s been underwater.
Finn’s watching us both, jaw tight, eyes suspicious and concerned at the same time.
Kael’s expression is unreadable, but I see the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze lingers on her too long.
They both know I pushed too hard.
They both know I’ll do it again.
Because whatever scared her last night?
It’s not done.
And until we figure out what the hell it is...
I’m not letting her out of my sight.
Not for one goddamn second.