Page 83 of Vengeful Melodies

I want to say yes. I almost do. But I don’t lie to Wren.

“I think so,” I admit. “Maybe. It’s just... a lot.”

The air between us tightens. Wren nods, patient. Always waiting for me to speak when I’m ready.

“They asked me to be theirs,” I whisper.

Wren eyes meet mine, unreadable but calm. “And?”

“I said yes.” The words feel fragile, like porcelain held between my teeth. “I meant it. Every part of it. But it still feels terrifying. Like I’m standing on the edge of something I can’t name.”

“You’re in love with them,” Wren says—not a question. A quiet truth.

I blink, then nod. “Yeah. I think I am. All of them. In different ways.”

Wren doesn’t flinch. He never does. He just breathes, like he’s processing the weight of it all with me. Then he shifts a little, tension suddenly coiling through his shoulders. Something flickers in his eyes.

“I kissed him,” Wren says.

My heart stumbles. “Who?”

“Grey.” Wren voice is barely there, like saying it out loud might take it away.

There’s a beat. A full breath where I just... see him. My best friend. My other half. The boy who never let me drown—even when I begged him to let go.

“You kissed Grey?” I echo, and the smile tugging at my lips comes not from surprise, but from pure, unfiltered joy.

Wren nods, still fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “We were just... sitting on the roof of the gas station duringsoundcheck. Talking. Laughing. And then he looked at me like I was the only real thing in the world, and I just... kissed him.”

My throat tightens. “And?”

“He kissed me back,” Wren says, breathless with disbelief. “It wasn’t just a kiss, Dreya. It felt like a promise.”

I reach out and grab his hand, squeezing it tight. “I’m so proud of you.”

Wren lets out a shaky laugh, his eyes glittering with something raw. But then, it fades. That warmth drains from his face, replaced by a shadow. I feel the shift before he even speaks.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice smaller than I intend.

Wren pulls his phone from his hoodie and hands it to me. “I wasn’t going to say anything. But I’ve been getting these... weird texts. They’re about you.”

My blood turns to ice.

I take the phone, the screen lighting up with unread messages. No name. Just a number. Anonymous.

“She’s lying to all of you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Your little friend is good at pretending. Ask her about New Orleans.”

“He’s coming for her. You’ll all burn if you stay close.”

My fingers go numb.

The words swim. My lungs shrink.

Pretending.

New Orleans.