Wren
The name hit her like a stone dropped into still water.
Wren.
The young Accepted blinked, certain she had misheard. The festival noise swelled and crashed around them, full of music and laughter, but the man’s voice cut clean through it. She turned toward him slightly, confusion already tightening her chest. He was staring at her as if he had seen a ghost dragged into daylight, eyes wide, color drained from his face.
“I—” Her voice faltered. ”You have the wrong person.” But she wasn’t sure he would be convinced. Recognition burned in his expression, deep and personal, threaded with grief and shock tangled together. It frightened her in a way anger wouldn’t have. Strangers weren’t supposed to look at her like that. Strangers weren’t supposed to know her at all.
Wren.
The name echoed again in her skull, hollow and disorienting. She wrapped her arms around her, stray fingers toying with a lock of hair. Her pulse stuttered. For a heartbeat she saw nothing but broken impressions: white light, the smell of antiseptic, blood on stone—then it vanished, leaving her breathless.
“I’m Jesse.” she insisted, but the stuttering of her pulse showed uncertaintiy in her words.
Without realizing she was doing it, she stepped closer to Zavien, her shoulder nearly brushing his arm. The movement was instinctive, a body-level search for something solid and known—safety by proximity. Her gaze never left the man’s face. Apology lingered in her expression, along with alarm and a fragile edge of pleading, as if she feared the wrong answer might break something.
But his eyes were her eyes.
Wren.
The young Accepted blinked, certain she had misheard. The festival noise swelled and crashed around them, full of music and laughter, but the man’s voice cut clean through it. She turned toward him slightly, confusion already tightening her chest. He was staring at her as if he had seen a ghost dragged into daylight, eyes wide, color drained from his face.
“I—” Her voice faltered. ”You have the wrong person.” But she wasn’t sure he would be convinced. Recognition burned in his expression, deep and personal, threaded with grief and shock tangled together. It frightened her in a way anger wouldn’t have. Strangers weren’t supposed to look at her like that. Strangers weren’t supposed to know her at all.
Wren.
The name echoed again in her skull, hollow and disorienting. She wrapped her arms around her, stray fingers toying with a lock of hair. Her pulse stuttered. For a heartbeat she saw nothing but broken impressions: white light, the smell of antiseptic, blood on stone—then it vanished, leaving her breathless.
“I’m Jesse.” she insisted, but the stuttering of her pulse showed uncertaintiy in her words.
Without realizing she was doing it, she stepped closer to Zavien, her shoulder nearly brushing his arm. The movement was instinctive, a body-level search for something solid and known—safety by proximity. Her gaze never left the man’s face. Apology lingered in her expression, along with alarm and a fragile edge of pleading, as if she feared the wrong answer might break something.
But his eyes were her eyes.
Here I am, a rabbit hearted girl
Frozen in the headlights
Frozen in the headlights
