Chapter 55 Atlas
Night settles heavy around the apartment.
Not quiet.
Not peaceful.
Just heavy.
Like the air knows what happened tonight and is trying not to shift too loudly.
Wren is small on the couch between us—knees pulled up, sleeves of my sweatshirt swallowing her hands, eyes half-open but unfocused. She’s exhausted. Not just physically. Deeply, bone-deep exhausted in a way that makes my throat tighten.
Kael finished locking down the perimeter.
Finn made her tea she didn’t drink.
I haven’t moved from this spot beside her except to breathe.
She leans into Finn’s side, her head resting on his shoulder, and I watch his face go through an entire storm of emotion—worry, relief, affection, awe—before he masks it with a soft smile.
Kael sits on the floor at her feet, his back against the couch, one arm resting on the cushion near her knee like he needs to be anchored to her.
It should look crowded.
It doesn’t.
It looks... right.
She blinks slowly, lashes brushing her cheek, and Finn’s fingers twitch like he wants to touch her hair but is too afraid to overstep.
She notices anyway.
Her voice is quiet. “You can.”
Finn’s breath catches. “I—are you sure?”
She nods.
So he does.
He lifts his hand—hesitant, reverent—and runs his fingers gently into her damp hair, brushing it back from her temple. She exhales shakily, eyelids fluttering closed.
My heart clenches so hard I have to look away.
Kael watches them with a calm I know is fake. His jaw flexes every so often, the only tell that he’s not nearly as steady as he looks.
Wren shivers once.
Without thinking, I move.
I pull a blanket from the back of the couch and drape it around her shoulders, letting it fall across her lap. My fingers brush her arm. Her breath stutters at the contact.
I pull back too quickly.
Coward.
But then—
She reaches out.
Her hand finds mine where it hovers uselessly between us, and her fingers slide into my palm like she didn’t think twice. Like it’s natural. Like this is where my hand should be.
My entire body locks.
She doesn’t squeeze.
Just holds.
Barely.
But I feel it everywhere.
Her warmth.
Her trust.
Her weight leaning just slightly into my side now, not Finn’s.
Finn sees.
Kael sees.
Neither of them moves or speaks.
This... whatever this is... is ours to figure out. Together.
Her head slowly shifts from Finn’s shoulder until it finds the space between us, her cheek resting half on me, half on the pillow.
I don’t breathe.
“Atlas?” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
“You’re warm.”
That shouldn’t undo me.
It does.
Finn’s hand still strokes her hair, softer now, like she might break if he presses too hard. Kael shifts closer on the floor, resting one hand on her shin over the blanket—protective, quiet, present.
She is surrounded.
Not trapped.
Surrounded.
Held in the safest cage three men could ever build.
Her hand squeezes mine faintly.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“For what?” Finn murmurs.
“For coming for me.”
Kael lifts his head slightly. “We always will.”
Her lips tremble. “I know.”
Finn’s breath shudders.
Kael’s eyes close briefly.
Something deep and raw twists in my chest.
I lift my free hand—slowly, deliberately—toward her face. My fingers graze her cheekbone, brushing away a tear she didn’t notice.
She leans into the touch instinctively.
Not flinching.
Not afraid.
Trusting me.
Something inside me breaks open so quietly it feels like it’s been cracking for weeks.
“We’re not leaving,” I say.
Finn nods, voice barely audible. “Not ever.”
Kael’s tone is steady, but the emotion beneath it is a pull I can feel in my own ribs. “Sleep, Wren. We’ve got you.”
Her eyes drift closed.
Finn’s fingers in her hair slow their tempo, becoming rhythmic and soothing, and her breathing begins to even out.
Kael reaches for her other hand where it rests on the blanket and places his palm over it—soft, silent.
Mine is still intertwined with hers, her fingers curled into my palm like she’s holding onto me through the dark.
Minutes pass.
Or hours.
Time dissolves.
Finn is the first to fall asleep, head tilted back against the couch, arm still around her.
Kael stays awake longer, watching her face with the kind of quiet devotion that makes something sharp bloom in my chest.
Eventually his head tips forward. His hand stays where it is.
I do not sleep.
I stay awake.
I keep watch.
She breathes.
I breathe.
The night stretches and bends around us.
Every time her fingers twitch in mine, every time she shifts closer, every time she sighs in her sleep—
I fall a little harder.
My eyes stay on the door.
The windows.
The shadows.
But my heart stays on her.
When dawn finally touches the room in pale gold, she’s still nestled between us—my hand still holding hers, Finn’s arm around her shoulder, Kael pressed close at her knees.
Safe.
All night.
She doesn’t wake yet.
But when she does... nothing will be the same.
Not for her.
Not for us.
Not for me.
Because somewhere between the fear and the breaking and the silence—
She became ours.
And I don’t think any of us are ever giving her back.