30 | ☕ Death Threats and Atlass Ex? ☕ #2
She could barely focus on the coffee cups in front of her, let alone the quiet chatter of the remaining patrons.
The weight of the messages still clung to her, each buzz from her phone like a reminder that something darker was closing in.
But just as the anxiety tightened its grip, the sound of the café door swinging open made her look up.
Her breath caught in her throat. Atlas.
He walked in with his usual quiet confidence, but there was something about him today that felt different.
His every movement seemed deliberate, composed, and yet, his gaze—his gaze was sharper, more focused than usual.
Anya felt her pulse pick up as his eyes swept over the room and, as always, landed on her.
There was a weight to his stare, like the world itself paused, just for a moment, to acknowledge his presence.
Anya's heart skipped again as he made his way toward her, his footsteps soft but purposeful.
The usual warmth of his smile tugged at his lips, but there was something different in the way he looked at her, something more serious, like he knew that something was off.
It was that same look that had always made her feel like he could understand her in ways no one else could, like he could read every little flicker of emotion that passed across her face.
He stopped in front of the counter, his gaze never leaving her. His usual grin faded slightly, replaced with concern, and the question she'd been dreading came quietly but pointedly.
"Hey, you okay?" he signed, his fingers moving gracefully through the air, the soft, fluid motions adding to the weight of his words.
Anya froze. His concern felt like a warmth wrapping around her, but it also felt suffocating, like she was being seen too clearly in a moment when all she wanted was to fade into the background.
She stiffened involuntarily, but she pushed the instinct away.
She didn't want to worry him. Not yet. She didn't want him dragged into the storm brewing on the other side of her phone.
She forced herself to act casual, plastering a smile on her face that felt hollow even as it formed.
"I'm good," she said, her voice a little too tight. "Just tired, you know?" The words tasted like ash in her mouth, but she said them anyway, hoping they'd be enough to send him back to his usual easy-going self.
But Atlas wasn't buying it—not for a second.
He leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing just enough to let her know that he saw through the walls she was desperately trying to put up.
There was something about him, something in the way he could read her—like he could sense when she wasn't being completely honest.
It was as if he saw through her carefully constructed fa?ade, and in that moment, Anya felt exposed, raw in a way she hadn't expected.
He signed, his fingers moving smoothly in the air, and though his expression remained calm, there was a quiet intensity in his gaze. "You sure?"
Anya swallowed hard, her chest tightening as he moved a little closer, not invading her space, but just enough to let her feel the proximity.
His presence, always steady and grounding, seemed to surround her now, his calm radiating outward, but it felt different today.
There was something unspoken hanging in the air between them, a sense that he knew something was wrong, even if he couldn't place it.
He signed again, a little slower this time, his hands making careful, deliberate movements, his eyes not leaving hers. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
She glanced down at her phone in her pocket.
The messages. The threats. They were still buzzing, relentless and cold, and every vibration felt like a nail being driven deeper into her chest.
She couldn't bring herself to look at them, couldn't bring herself to show him what was happening.
Not yet. Not when she didn't understand it herself, and not when she was terrified that bringing him into it would drag him into something darker than she could handle.
Her lips parted as if she was about to speak, but the words wouldn't come. The fear—the dread—sat heavily in her chest, making it impossible to articulate. She felt trapped in her own mind, struggling to form any coherent thought, let alone the truth.
Before she could find the words, Atlas seemed to sense the hesitation in her, the shift in the air around them.
His gaze softened, but there was a quiet intensity that remained.
He reached across the counter, his fingers moving gently to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
It was a small gesture, tender and almost too familiar, but it carried so much weight.
It wasn't just a simple touch—it was an invitation.
An unspoken plea to trust him, to let him in.
She knew she couldn't keep this from him any longer. The secrecy, the constant fear—it was eating her alive, and it was starting to feel suffocating. She had to tell him. She had to let him see what was really happening.
She slid the phone across the counter to him, her fingers brushing against the cool surface, her breath shallow as she waited for him to take it. She didn't look at him as she spoke, her gaze fixed on the countertop, too afraid to meet his eyes. "I... I've been getting these messages."
Atlas didn't hesitate. He took the phone, his movements deliberate, as though he already knew how much this was going to hurt her to share.
He held it in his hands for a moment before glancing at the screen.
His eyes quickly scanned the text, his focus shifting with each line, his brow furrowing more deeply as he read.
His face changed the moment his eyes skimmed over the messages, the colour draining from his features.
Anya didn't notice it at first, too caught up in the silence, in the weight of the moment, but then she saw the subtle shift in his expression—a tightening of his jaw, a flicker of something she couldn't quite place behind his gaze.
The calm fa?ade he had maintained for so long, the one she always relied on, cracked just for an instant, revealing something raw and dangerous beneath.
He stood there for a moment, staring at the screen, his fingers gripping the phone a little too tightly, like he was trying to steady himself.
For a moment, Anya was too afraid to ask what was going on, unsure whether she wanted to know.
The silence stretched between them, thick with an unspoken understanding.
And then she saw it—his eyes flickered with recognition. It was subtle, but it was there. A momentary flash of something—something dark, something angry.
Anya's breath hitched. She didn't know who it was, but she could feel it in the way Atlas's body went stiff, the way his gaze hardened. This wasn't just some random person. Whoever was behind these messages, Atlas knew them.
He glanced at her, his eyes briefly meeting hers before he looked down at the phone again, his face hardening.
Then, as if snapping out of a trance, Atlas signed, his fingers moving deliberately, slowly. "I know who this is."
Anya froze. The words—silent but heavy—hung in the air between them. The realization struck her hard, a sharp pang of confusion and dread settling deep in her stomach. He knows who it is?
Atlas looked at her again, his eyes intense, filled with something that almost looked like frustration, and then he signed again, his fingers moving with more urgency. "It's my ex."
Anya's heart dropped to her stomach. His ex?
She had never heard him mention anyone before—no past lovers, no former partners.
Atlas had always been so closed off about his past, and she had never pressed him.
But now, in this moment, she realized how little she actually knew about him, about the things he had left behind.
Atlas's face tightened even more, and his gaze flickered to the phone again, his fingers still hovering over it, as though the message itself was a physical weight he could barely hold. He was angry. She could feel it in the air—an anger so deep and potent, it was almost suffocating.
"Atlas..." Her voice was barely a whisper, but it felt loud in the quiet tension that surrounded them.
She reached out instinctively, her hand hovering over the counter, unsure whether to pull him closer or to give him space.
Her heart was pounding, the fear in her chest growing. "What... what do we do now?"
Atlas didn't answer right away. He looked at her with that same quiet intensity, his gaze unreadable for a moment, before he signed, his words slow, measured. "I'll handle it. She won't get away with this."