Wren
My legs turns to lead. Everything screams at me to turn away.
“Leave, Wren!”
Including Ezra. But do I obey the voice? Nope. I waltz my way into the room on trembling legs, and stand beside Ray.
Chin up, I speak. “What do you want with us, Reggie?”
“Get back, Wren,” Ray spits. “Torch! Come get her.”
“Don’t move.” Reggie clicks off his safety, aiming it behind me—at Torch, I presume.
Then, he turns to me with that creepy grin. “Wren. Wren. Wren. How do you spell it?…oh, right, you can’t spell.”
“I can spell, you dimwit,” I snap. “I have dyslexia, not a speech impediment.”
“Same difference, love.”
“Stop talking to him. He’s not a chat buddy,” Ezra scowls. “Why are you even here?”
“The keys. I came for the keys.”
“You should’ve called.”
“I did. Four times—”
“I don’t care ab
