Chapter 11 Kael
Wren leaves the room first.
She moves fast, too fast, like she needs to get away from all three of us before something inside her cracks.
I watch her retreat down the hallway, shoulders curled in, hoodie too big, hair swaying with each hurried step.
Something inside my chest twists.
Finn blows out a breath beside me. “She’s scared.”
Atlas’s jaw tightens. “She’s hiding something.”
Both true.
Both unacceptable.
I don’t answer them.
Because my own thoughts are too loud, too sharp, too focused on the way Wren wouldn’t meet my eyes for more than a heartbeat. On the way her voice trembled. On the way she looked at my hand like she wanted me to touch her — but also like one touch might shatter her.
I can’t stop replaying her face.
Fear and pride, mixed together in the way only someone who’s been hurt before can wear them.
I turn away from Finn and Atlas before either of them can read the expression on my face.
“Practice in ten,” I say.
Finn’s brows lift. “Kael—”
“Ten,” I repeat, and the edge in my voice kills the conversation.
They leave.
I stay.
I wait until the hallway clears before I follow the path Wren took. Not to chase her. Not to smother.
To confirm something.
A feeling.
A suspicion.
Her locker is small, tucked in a corner near the staff room. I don’t touch anything, don’t snoop, don’t cross that line.
I don’t need to.
Because sitting on the floor, half hidden where her bag must have bumped it, is a piece of crumpled paper.
White.
Folded.
Not discarded.
Dropped.
My pulse jumps.
I crouch down and pick it up.
It’s light. Thin. One sheet.
Not team stationery.
Not facility paper.
Just... a plain white page.
My chest tightens as I unfold it.
Four words stare back at me.
STAY AWAY FROM THEM.
The world narrows.
Then sharpens.
Then goes perfectly, unnervingly quiet.
Someone threatened her.
Someone came into our building, into my territory, and slid this under her locker like it was nothing.
She didn’t tell us.
She’s scared.
She’s alone with something she shouldn’t be alone with.
I fold the note slowly. Deliberately. Like I’m folding a contract in blood.
I slip it into my pocket.
I don’t think.
I don’t breathe.
I just move.
Straight to the security office.
The guard looks up as I step inside—then immediately sits straighter. Everyone does. No one wants the captain staring at them the way I’m staring now.
“I need access to this morning’s locker hallway footage,” I say, voice low.
He blinks. “Uh—Captain, everything okay?”
“No.”
That’s all I give him.
That’s all he needs.
He pulls the footage.
I stand behind him, arms crossed, jaw locked, eyes scanning every shadow, every figure walking too close to the staff lockers.
And I’m not leaving until I find the person who thought they could threaten Wren Harper.
Because someone made a mistake.
Someone touched something that’s becoming mine.
And they have no idea what’s coming.