Chapter 10 Wren
Atlas steps back, and I swear the air in the room fills like someone pulled the emergency brake on the entire world.
My skin still tingles where his presence pressed up against it.
My pulse still hammers from the way he said tell me their name.
My mind is still replaying the part where he said he’d “handle it.”
Handle it.
No questions.
No witnesses.
My breath shakes.
He meant it.
God help me, I know he did.
I turn away before he can see the way that shakes me—not out of fear, but out of something else I’m not ready to name. Something dark and warm and terrifying in its own right.
I busy myself with reorganizing the shoulder pads and wraps on the counter. My hands move automatically. My brain is somewhere else entirely.
Last night’s envelope.
The handwritten threat.
The text messages.
You shouldn’t be around them.
You don’t belong on the ice.
You’ll fall again.
The words press into me like cold fingers.
And now the way Atlas looked at me—like he could feel every ounce of panic I’m trying to bury—it makes the fear harder to hide.
I hear footsteps behind me.
Finn.
I know it before he speaks. His energy is softer, warmer, more careful. It brushes up against my nerves like a blanket instead of a blade.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I force a breath. “I’m fine.”
“You’re lying.”
It’s not an accusation.
Just a fact.
Like saying the sky is blue or Atlas hits hard.
Finn steps beside me, close enough that our arms almost touch. He leans a hip against the counter, watching me like I might shatter if he blinks.
“You came in different today,” he says. “Quieter.”
“I’m allowed to be tired.”
“Not like that.”
I turn, meeting his eyes. Warm brown. Too honest.
He softens further. “Harper, yesterday you walked in like you were ready to fight the entire roster if you had to. Today... you’re somewhere else.”
My throat tightens painfully.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I whisper.
“I know,” Finn says. “But I want you to.”
I look away again. “Finn—”
“Don’t say you’re fine,” he cuts in gently. “Say anything except that.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
If I tell him what happened...
If I tell any of them...
They’ll react.
Hard.
Loud.
Uncontrolled.
Kael will go silent and dangerous.
Atlas will go violent.
Finn... Finn might fall apart in the kindest way possible.
I can’t handle that.
Not when I’m barely holding myself together.
“I just need to work,” I say finally. “Let me... just work.”
Finn opens his mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to ask more—but Kael’s voice cuts across the room.
“Finn! Let her breathe.”
I flinch. Finn flinches. Even Kael looks pissed at himself for how sharp that came out.
He steps closer—controlled, deliberate, every movement calculated. He stops a foot away from me, hands on his hips, jaw tight.
“You’re not fine,” Kael says.
“I don’t need all of you hovering—”
“You do.”
He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t need to. “And you’re not getting rid of us.”
Something cracks inside my chest at that. Something fragile and stubborn and stupid.
“I’m not your responsibility,” I whisper.
“Yes,” Kael says, “you are.”
Finn nods. “Yes.”
Atlas’s voice rumbles from behind them. “Yeah.”
I look between the three of them—Kael unblinking, Finn earnest, Atlas intense—and a strange, suffocating mix of emotions floods my body.
Fear.
Warmth.
Relief.
Danger.
Want.
All tangled together.
“You barely know me,” I say.
Kael’s eyes soften—barely, but enough to steal the breath from my lungs.
“We know enough,” he murmurs.
Finn steps closer. “We know something’s hurting you.”
Atlas crosses his arms. “And we know we’ll kill it.”
My breath catches audibly. “Guys—”
Kael reaches out—slow, giving me time to pull away.
I don’t.
His fingertips brush the side of my elbow, grounding me in a way that feels intimate despite barely touching.
“You don’t have to tell us today,” he says softly.
My throat closes.
“But you’re not alone,” Finn adds.
“Not ever,” Atlas finishes.
The force of it hits me like a punch.
No one has said that to me in years.
Maybe ever.
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod once, because that’s all I can manage without breaking apart completely.
Kael steps back first, giving me air. Finn stays close but not suffocating. Atlas watches from the side like a guard dog coiled to snap at the next threat.
And for the first time since last night’s message, the fear doesn’t feel quite as sharp.
Because I am not alone in this building anymore.
And that might be the most dangerous part of all.