Chapter 54
Conin
“Fancy seeing you here,” Atlas says.
He says this every time we meet. I find the starts of a giggle lodging in my throat and the eruption of tingling nerves along my skin every time—without fail. A magnetic force gravitates me toward Atlas, almost like a tether binds him and me together like it does him and Ezra.
There’s his undeniable charm everyone loves him for, and when I say everyone, I quite literally mean everyone.
He knows every Angelic already, although that could be because of his abuelo’s operation.
Regardless, a bevy of beaming, enthusiastic people are always surrounding him.
A thimble of jealousy lodges itself in my stomach to the point where I can feel an irksome itch in my bones, a sprouting annoyance I have no means of stopping.
But when Atlas is with Ezra, that clawing plight dissipates.
It feels right that they’re in each other’s orbit.
I’m far less ill at ease when I know they’re working together or when I come home from Headquarters and they’re sitting on the couch in an animated conversation.
Ezra lights up the room when Atlas is in it and perhaps I should feel jealous, but I don’t.
My heart is full and it’s not only because of Ezra. It’s because of Atlas, too. If Ezra knew, would he understand? Would he feel the same way?
Atlas plops this week’s book club pick on the table. He sighs and leans back in the chair, getting comfortable since we’ve become regulars.
“I didn’t like it,” he says, exasperated.
“Boo,” I say and take a sip of my coffee. “Why not?”
“I just don’t know how I feel about a cisgender man writing the experiences of an intersex character, no matter if it is fictional. Though, at the same time, I acknowledge we need more stories about intersex people, as they’re often the most repressed in the queer community. God, I’m conflicted.”
“Wow, okay,” I mutter. “I didn’t think that deeply about it.”
“I still don’t understand why you keep reading these books with me when I’m nothing but overcritical,” Atlas laughs. I giggle alongside him, then thumb through the book’s pages.
“I don’t know. It’s fun. I like to hear your never-ending rants.”
“They are never-ending,” he concedes. “You’re never able to get a say.”
“And I’m perfectly fine with that.”
“Any other thoughts on the book?” I question. He’d normally be lost in a full-on tirade by now.
“Nah. I think I was mostly disappointed. How about you?”
He’s not invested, not how he usually is. At this point in our conversation, Atlas would be fully engaged in his analytical ways, but he’s not. He’s distant.
“I approached it from a more technical aspect, which—”
Atlas rolls his eyes.
“Which you told me not to do, but you know me. I’m a writer.”
“Yes, that you are,” he says. “And that’s fine. The author does have some beautiful prose in there.”
“Yeah, he does!”
Atlas leans in, resting his elbows on the table, and clasps his hands together. “Anything that stood out to you in particular?”
“No, but it’s like you said. His prose is great. I tried studying to see what techniques I could implement in my own writing.”
“How’s that going, by the way?”
“I’ve finished the first several chapters, but I think I’ll go back and touch up on the outline before continuing any further.”
“Nice! I hope that goes well.”
“Thanks. I do, too.”
Atlas’s pupils dilate and his lips curve upwards. A pleasant burgundy flushes his cheeks, his eyes crinkling behind his spectacles. His entire person gravitates toward me. I reciprocate his cordial smile after discreetly catching my breath.
“I’m glad we’re still doing this,” he whispers.
“Me too,” I say.
“And I’m glad I ran into you that day.”
“Me too.”
After my conversation with Brett, and running into Atlas near the library, I followed along without question.
There were two copies of a book he’d waited to read for a while.
He’d asked if I’d be willing to read along with him.
My mouth agreed before my brain realized what I’d done.
The next time we visited, Atlas proposed a book club.
I just wanted to spend more time with him.
The way he’s speaking, and the way he looks at me, makes me wonder if I’m missing any cues here. I sift through everything he’s said to me, attempting to find the hints underlying each word. He stares at me longer, his grin fading.“I should go,” Atlas says, standing.
“What?” I stumble. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, though his reply is not convincing. “Sorry, I remembered Mafu invited me to a game night tonight.”
I sometimes forget he and Mafu were childhood friends, given how cold he acts toward others. That, and they haven’t been on the best of terms lately.
“Sure,” I say. “Have fun. See you Tuesday?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, offers a weak grin, and hurries out of the library.
Ezra’s fingers brush through my curls. He’s acting as the big spoon because of the several inches he has over me, but I can’t complain. It’s soothing, wrapped in someone’s arms for once, protected and safe.
The sun’s gone down and moonlight drifts through the blinds, casting us in its milky glow.
Ezra tells me about his day and the projects the horticultural supervisors have given them to accomplish.
He drones on and on about plants and vegetables, the music he’s learning in his lessons, and how Ofa is constantly hovering over his shoulder.
He doesn’t mention Atlas once. I haven’t confronted Ezra about him yet.
That would lead me to confess feelings that aren’t ready to see the light of day, but the absence of Atlas in this conversation doesn’t help my suspicions.
The avoidance almost confirms them.
“Are you okay?” Ezra asks when my silence has dragged on for too long.
“Yeah,” I say. Sleep threatens to pull me under, its arms cradling my tired consciousness.
Time. I need more time to figure out what I’m going to say and when.
“If there’s something on your mind, you can tell me. You don’t need to be afraid to open up to me and talk about your emotions,” he says.
“I know, Ez. I’m just tired.”
“I don’t want you to be the only one carrying this relationship. I want to do my part, too. Be there for you when you need it.”
“Thank you, love.”
The sheets rustle, followed by the tender placement of his lips on my cheek. Minutes later, he’s dead to the world. I consider what he told me, but he and I are at an impasse. He must have his suspicions, too.
I’m not ready to tell him, but I have to figure out something before we crash and burn.
Ambrosia pulls me aside in the locker room, the second the Angelic emblem clasps to my chest. The wings are weightless, which continues to surprise me.
On my second day with the guard, Matt told me that their armor suits consist of nanotechnology, courtesy of Esther’s father and his endless stream of cash.
Ambrosia snaps her finger in irritation.
“You’ve been distracted lately. Is everything . . . fine?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
She peers at me skeptically, but it’s back to business with her.
“Leeanne informed me of a supply mission her crew can’t make with our private distributor. She tasked the Eureka group to fulfill it—”
“The Eureka group?”
“Everyone in Eureka that day who helped fight off the Barclay’s mercenaries. I told her how you handled yourself with Levi. Leeanne was impressed,” Ambrosia says.
Normally, I might’ve preened over the praise. “Listen. I want you to come on the run. This could be a good training exercise—get you a feel of what we’re tasked with sometimes.”
“Sure,” I say.
But on the inside? I’m rattled to my core.
Going out on a supply run potentially means leaving Proctus’s borders and leaving Ezra and Atlas—
So, Atlas has crept in there now.
No wonder I’ve been distracted.
Ambrosia leads me to the armory. My HK-47 hangs suspended on the wall at the far corner, locked until I type in the specific code assigned to me. Her gaze is nothing but cold disapproval. Ambrosia vouched for me to join the guard, but maybe she’s starting to regret her decision.
The HK slides from its clasps and into my gloved hands. I stand there for a moment, maybe a moment too long, to cover the tremors.
Ambrosia looms behind me.
“Is this going to be a problem, Conin?” she asks.
“Is what going to be a problem?” I say, dubiously.
“I’ve noticed your hesitancy with a gun in target practice. Is having one on your person going to be an issue?”
Of course she noticed.
“No.”
“Are you sure? I can’t have you freezing up out there.”
“I promise it won’t be.”
“You’ll tell me if it does become a problem?”
“Yes.”
She assesses me again.
“Good, let’s go.”
Dread comes rushing back in waves.