We’re standing between two bushes, our backs to the wall of the house. The moon has disappeared behind a cloud and it’s so dark I can’t see Atlas’s face.
‘Questioned me, reprimanded me, left me there for a while,’ he says quietly. ‘Apparently, Lumens negotiated my release.’
I nod. ‘You’ll have to be on your best behaviour from now on. No more saving me from Ralph.’
His hand finds mine in the dark.
‘We should go in,’ I say, although that’s the last thing I want to do. ‘You could do with some sleep.’
Atlas is rummaging inside his jacket pocket. ‘All I need is ice, a whisky and a good confessor.’
‘Confessor?’
A flame springs to life between us and Atlas’s face is illuminated by a fizzing matchstick.
‘For my sins,’ he says with a grin.
‘Can’t you just confess your sins to yourself or something?’ I say.
A cockerel crows somewhere far away. It must be nearly dawn.
‘That’s not how it works, I’m afraid,’ he says. ‘And I’m not a priest yet anyway, remember?’
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Priest-in-training.’
We’re grinning again.
‘Speaking of sins,’ he says casually, ‘why do you hate yourself so much for yours?’
‘What?’
Atlas shrugs. ‘You would rather let Ralph break your bones than give him the satisfaction of forcing words out of your mouth, and I admire you for it. But he told you that you deserved it, and it seemed like you agreed. You went limp just before he broke your arm. You let him do it. And you let Sophie talk to you like you’re—’
‘She’s just angry with me,’ I say.
And rightfully so.
‘Yes, well, whatever you two argued about, it seems to me like you’re beating yourself up for it a lot.’
‘So?’ I say. ‘When you do something wrong, isn’t it normal to punish yourself for it?’
‘To spend your whole life punishing yourself for something you can never take back?’ Atlas shakes his head. ‘No way.’
‘What makes you think I’m going to spend my whole life doing it?’
‘Marquis told me it’s been six months since you and Sophie argued.’
Marquis has been talking about me behind my back? With Atlas?
‘He had no right—’
‘I asked him,’ Atlas says quickly. He has the decency to look apologetic. ‘I was curious, but he didn’t give me any details.’
I can’t decide whether to be flattered or annoyed.
‘Can’t you just forgive each other?’ he says. ‘Forgive yourselves?’
He smiles. I find the whole situation – receiving unsolicited advice from a boy who just risked demotion by beating up a Guardian – strangely hilarious.
