Swiftcurrent Creek Are written on the subway walls

To say Wren had been a little bit of a mess would be an understatement.
Paranoid, flighty; stretched thin with a constant overhanging sense of dread. From the very moment she woke in the morning her chest fluttered, pounded, heart stammering and beating up against her ribcage. Sleep was rare; nausea, too, had become a regular occurance.
And the worst part was that she didn't even really know why.
But her misery is put on the backburner when a certain silhouette makes an approach during one of the few moments she'd been outside of her den. Sunlight and fresh air help, they say.
Snapping from her daze, she faces him with sunken eyes. Hey, her response is immediate, voice haggard. I'm sorry.
She sure has been apologizing a lot lately.