Chapter 47 Wren
The first thing I register is noise.
Not loud, chaotic noise—just the kind a city makes when it thinks you aren’t listening.
A horn blaring from two blocks down.
The heater rattling like it’s trying to cough itself awake.
Footsteps in the hallway outside the apartment.
Someone laughing in the distance, maybe on the street, maybe in another building entirely.
I blink at the ceiling.
It’s not mine.
The room isn’t mine.
The smell isn’t mine.
The air isn’t mine.
It’s Finn’s.
Finn’s apartment.
Finn’s spare bedroom.
Finn’s sheets tangled around my legs.
And Finn’s arm—heavy, warm, absolutely not subtle—draped across my waist like he spent the whole night making sure I didn’t slip away.
My face floods with heat.
Right.
Last night.
I close my eyes and let the memories hit me in a slow, dizzying wave—his mouth on my throat, his hands sliding under my shirt, the soft, broken sounds he made against my skin, the way he looked at me like he couldn’t believe I wanted him back.
My stomach flips so hard I have to press my palm against it.
A soft exhale brushes the back of my neck.
Finn.
He’s still asleep—if you can call it sleep, because he’s wrapped around me like a seatbelt, forehead pressed to the space between my shoulder blades, his chest fitting perfectly against the curve of my spine. One of his legs is tangled with mine.
I’m pretty sure if I tried to escape, he’d instinctively drag me back without ever waking up.
I turn gently onto my back, and his arm slides with me, adjusting automatically. His face is inches from mine now—hair sticking up wildly, eyelashes dark against his cheek, mouth relaxed in a way I’ve never seen when he’s awake.
The intimacy of it—the vulnerability of seeing him like this—makes something deep inside me clench.
I shouldn’t stare.
But I do.
He’s beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with symmetry.
Beautiful in the way he feels—warm, earnest, a mess of sunshine and nerves and quiet bravery he tries to hide with humor.
Beautiful in the way he touched me last night, like he was terrified he’d hurt me but even more terrified he wouldn’t touch me enough.
I lift my hand slowly and brush a stray piece of hair away from his forehead.
He makes a small noise at the contact.
Then his eyes open—blue and groggy and unbearably soft.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
“Hey,” I whisper back.
He blinks at me like he’s trying to make sure I’m real. “You’re still here.”
“Of course I’m still here.”
“Good,” he breathes, relief loosening every line of tension in his shoulders. “I wasn’t ready to be devastated before breakfast.”
I laugh under my breath. “Devastated?”
“Emotionally ruined. Heart shattered. You know. The usual.”
I nudge him gently with my knee. “I told you last night—none of that was a mistake.”
“Yeah,” he whispers, eyes dropping to my mouth, “but morning logic is different than nighttime logic. In the morning, people remember taxes and responsibilities and consequences.”
My cheeks warm. “I didn’t forget anything.”
He smiles—slow and warm and so sincere it knocks the breath out of me. “Good. Because if you regretted it, I’d... I don’t know. Move to the woods. Become a hermit. Grow a beard. Get a pet raccoon.”
I laugh before I can help it. “A raccoon?”
He shrugs lightly, the motion shifting the entire mattress. “Companionship, Wren. Emotional support trash animal.”
Another laugh escapes me, this one too loud. He grins proudly like making me laugh is a personal accomplishment.
Then the grin fades, replaced by something softer.
“Can I touch you?” he asks.
My heart stutters. “You’re already touching me.”
His thumb brushes my waist. “Not like that. I mean—can I really touch you?”
I swallow.
Then nod.
He shifts closer, cupping my cheek with a hand that’s both warm and hesitant. His thumb strokes lightly along my jaw. My breath catches.
“You okay?” he whispers.
“Yes.”
He leans in and kisses me.
Slow.
Barely-there.
Sweet enough to make my chest ache.
It’s nothing like last night’s heat. This is morning tenderness—soft lips, gentle hands, a kiss that feels like a question and an answer at the same time.
He pulls back just enough to study me.
“You’re still shaking,” he says quietly.
“No I’m not.”
“You are,” he murmurs, thumb brushing my jaw again. “But it’s okay. It’s normal. Yesterday was... a lot.”
“Yeah.” My voice cracks a little. “It was.”
He hesitates. “Do you... want to talk about it?”
Adrian.
The name tries to claw its way up my throat. I push it back down.
“Not yet,” I whisper.
“Okay.” Finn presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “Then we won’t.”
His hand drifts to my waist again, fingers tracing gentle circles over the fabric of the shirt I borrowed last night—his shirt. It’s huge on me, soft and warm from the dryer, smelling faintly like his detergent and whatever cologne he uses that has no right to smell that good.
“How long have you been awake?” he asks.
“A few minutes.”
“You should’ve woken me.”
“You looked peaceful.”
He snorts. “I drool in my sleep.”
“You didn’t drool.”
“Tragic missed opportunity.”
I smile again—really smile—and the way Finn looks at me in that moment... it’s too much. Too open. Too honest. Too everything.
His hand slides up my side. “Can I kiss you again?”
I nod.
This kiss is deeper. His tongue sweeps against mine, slow and teasing, and the heat from last night flickers back to life under my skin. His hand cups the back of my neck, pulling me closer. His body presses flush to mine, and a soft sound escapes me.
He tenses for a moment—concern flashing in his eyes.
“Too much?” he whispers.
“Not enough.”
He groans, low and rough, and kisses me harder.
I roll onto my side, pulling him with me. His hands map my waist, my hips, my thighs with reverence. Last night’s urgency is gone—replaced by something more intimate, more deliberate, more consuming in its own way.
He breaks the kiss only long enough to breathe against my mouth.
“Wren...”
“Finn.”
He presses his forehead to mine, breath warm against my lips. “I’m trying really hard not to do stupid things.”
“What kind of stupid things?” I whisper.
“The kind where I tell you how badly I want you again,” he says, “even though you probably need water and a normal breakfast before anything else.”
Heat floods me so strongly I almost hide under the blanket.
I don’t.
“You can tell me,” I whisper.
He exhales a shaky laugh. “God, you’re gonna ruin me.”
Then he kisses my neck, slowly, dragging his mouth along the spot beneath my ear, down to my collarbone. My back arches involuntarily. His hand grips my hip.
And for a moment, it’s just us again—no danger, no fear, no Adrian, no cameras, no hallway shadows. Just Finn’s mouth on my skin and the way his voice breaks every time he says my name.
Eventually he pulls back, panting faintly, forehead dropping to my shoulder.
“I need a second,” he mutters. “Or we’re not leaving this room all day.”
I’m embarrassingly okay with that.
I slide my fingers through his hair gently. “Take your second.”
He inhales tightly and nods, pushing himself up to sit against the headboard. His hair is a disaster, his chest rising fast, his shirt half-tucked and twisted—and somehow he’s never looked better.
He glances at me, cheeks flushed, eyes soft. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” I admit.
He brightens. “Breakfast. I make good pancakes. Like really good. The best pancakes you’ve ever had or your money back.”
“You’re not charging me.”
“That’s because you haven’t tasted them yet.”
I laugh again, and he grins like he’s collected a prize.
He slides out of bed, tossing me the blanket I’d lost somewhere in the night. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
And before I can move or think or fall apart, he pads barefoot into the hallway, whistling under his breath like a man who’s had the best night of his life.
Maybe he has.
I sit there for a long moment after he leaves, hands fisted in the comforter, staring at the space he occupied a second ago.
I should be scared.
I should be overwhelmed.
I should be thinking about Kael, about Atlas, about Adrian, about the danger threading itself through my life like a fuse.
But right now, all I can think about is the way Finn looked at me.
The way he touched me.
The way he said my name like it mattered.
And the way it made me feel—
wanted,
safe,
alive.
For the first time in a long time, the fear doesn't win the morning.
Finn does.