Chapter 43 Wren
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Kael approaches me with Finn and Atlas flanking him like a three-man wall, and instantly every nerve in my body tries to tell me something’s off.
Not dangerous.
Not panic-worthy.
Just... wrong.
Too quiet.
Too controlled.
Too intentional.
Kael stops a few feet from the trainer’s cart and says, “You hungry?”
Not hello.
Not you okay?
Not ready for lunch?
Just: you hungry.
I blink at him. “A little.”
Before I can ask anything else, Finn swoops in. “Perfect. We’re taking you to lunch.”
He says it too cheerfully.
Atlas nods once, already shepherding me toward the tunnel. “My car’s closest.”
Kael’s eyes flick to me, searching. Not for permission. For stability. For whether I’m about to fall apart or hold steady. When he finds the answer—steady enough—he nods once.
“We’ll talk after,” he says.
Three words that feel like someone placing a weight on the table and sliding it toward me.
Something’s happened.
I knew something was coming the second Kael’s phone buzzed on the ice and he didn’t open it. But he’s good at hiding strain. Too good. Finn? Not so much—he’s vibrating like a shaken soda can. Atlas looks like his jaw might crack from clenching.
But me?
I take a breath. Pick up my coat. Lock the cart.
And walk with them.
***
On the walk to the parking lot, Kael stays a half-step ahead, scanning every doorway and hallway like he’s mapping threats. Finn keeps brushing the back of my hand like he keeps forgetting he’s touching me and then remembers and does it again. Atlas stays behind us, not talking, just there.
They sandwich me between them from locker room to exit.
And I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t about lunch at all.
Atlas unlocks his SUV with one tap, holding the passenger door open like he’s done it a thousand times. Kael waits until I’m seated before closing it. Finn climbs in beside me and buckles up without breaking eye contact.
“You like Italian?” he asks suddenly, too bright.
“I—yeah?”
“Good. Because we’re getting Italian.” His smile is big enough to be suspicious.
I narrow my eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Finn says too fast.
Atlas starts the car. Kael twists in the passenger seat to look at me. “We’ll talk after we eat.”
There it is again: after.
I swallow and nod, even though my skin prickles with dread.
Fine. Lunch first. Heavy second.
I don’t know if that’s kindness or torture, but I take the gift of time anyway.
***
The restaurant Finn brings us to is warm and bustling, the air thick with garlic and herbs and fresh bread. A place that smells like normal life, like families celebrating nothing special, like first dates and weekday lunches.
The kind of place I haven’t let myself sit in for too long.
Kael chooses a corner booth against the far wall. He doesn’t say why. He doesn’t need to. From there he can see the door, the kitchen entrance, the bathroom hall, and the street.
Atlas sits next to him. Finn and I slide into the opposite side, but Finn sits so close our thighs touch. I don’t pull away.
A server drops menus and water glasses. Finn immediately hides behind his, asking random questions like he’s auditioning for the role of Human Distraction.
“Do you like gnocchi? You look like a gnocchi girl. Or maybe penne? People who like penne usually like order and structure—are you a structure person, Wren?”
I arch a brow. “Are you... okay?”
He straightens his posture. “I’m perfect.”
Atlas mutters, “You’re loud.”
Finn whispers, “I’m coping.”
Kael doesn’t look up from the menu. “Quiet coping.”
Finn mutters something that definitely includes a curse.
I laugh despite myself.
And that’s when their shoulders all drop a fraction.
Because they’re trying to keep me breathing.
Trying to fill the space with brightness before they drop the truth.
Trying to hold me together just a little longer.
God.
I try to focus on the menu. The words blur a bit. My appetite evaporates and returns in waves. I pretend not to notice the way Kael watches my hands, how Atlas notices me gripping my water glass too tightly, how Finn nudges my knee every few seconds to check I’m still present.
The server returns. I order something I don’t remember seeing on the menu. Finn orders two things. Atlas says, “Same,” and Kael requests his food with military precision.
As soon as the server leaves, Finn leans forward dramatically.
“So! Let’s talk about literally anything else. Favorite movies. Weirdest childhood injuries. Strange facts. Wren, go.”
I blink. “Um...”
Atlas rests his arm along the back of the booth behind Kael, posture deceptively relaxed. “You don’t have to humor him.”
Finn gasps. “Humor me. Please humor me.”
I smile a little. “Weird childhood injury... I once stapled my finger trying to use a mini stapler as a hole punch.”
Finn slaps both hands on the table. “WHAT?!”
Even Kael looks up from his water glass.
Atlas’s mouth twitches, the closest he ever gets to laughing. “How.”
“I was eight,” I say defensively. “And unsupervised.”
Finn shakes his head. “Absolutely unacceptable. We need surveillance on you at all times.”
Kael deadpans, “We are not installing cameras in her apartment.”
Atlas adds, “Or bathroom.”
Finn sighs dramatically. “Way to kill the vibe, guys.”
But he smiles at me. And I smile back. And something soft fills the space between us again.
Our food arrives, steaming and rich. Bread baskets piled high. Pasta delivered to the table like it’s a peace offering.
I take one bite and nearly melt. “Oh my god.”
Finn beams, victorious. “See? Best Italian in the city.”
Atlas digs into his plate like he hasn’t eaten in three days. Kael eats slower, deliberate, still scanning the room between bites.
For half an hour, it almost feels normal.
Warm.
Soft.
Steady.
I let them talk about everything and nothing. Finn tells a story about a rookie who got his skate lace stuck in the Gatorade crate once. Atlas calls him a liar; Finn produces photographic evidence. Kael mutters, “You’re all idiots,” but his lips curve when he thinks no one is looking.
And then—
The moment shifts.
Kael checks the time.
Atlas notices.
Finn’s knee bumps mine again—but this time, he doesn’t smile.
I set my fork down. “Okay,” I say softly. “I’m ready.”
The table goes still.
Finn’s fingers tighten around his water glass. Atlas’s shoulders lock. Kael exhales the smallest breath, as if he’s been bracing the whole meal.
He nods once.
“Let’s go back to the rink.”
My heart thumps against my ribs, but I nod too.
Lunch was the last warm breath before the cold.
The last softness before the truth.
And I know—deep in my bones—that whatever Kael has to show me is going to shift the ground under all of us.