Chapter 40: Atlas
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She asks us in.
Three small words.Quiet.Barely a whisper.But the impact hits me like a full-body check to the chest.
Will you come in?
Not can you.
Not do you want to.
Not should you.
Will you.
I don’t realize I’ve stepped forward until I’m standing inches behind her, close enough that her hair brushes my jacket when she shifts to unlock the door.Finn inhales sharply beside her.Kael doesn’t breathe at all.
The lock clicks.
She pushes the door open and steps inside, turning just enough that the hallway light hits her face.There’s nervousness there—fine tremors along her fingers, a tight swallow, the kind of instinctive bracing she does when she thinks she’s asking too much.
I hate that she thinks this is asking too much.
I move past her first—not to lead, but to check the space.It’s habit, instinct, something wired in me now.I sweep the room with my eyes: windows locked, blinds down, no shadows in corners that shouldn’t be there.The place smells like vanilla and laundry detergent and the faintest trace of her shampoo from this morning.
It feels like stepping into her chest.Into the space behind her ribs.
Finn wanders further in, slow, reverent, like he’s terrified of stepping too loud.Kael closes the door behind us and checks the lock as quietly as I did the room.He doesn’t say anything, but I feel his mind working next to mine—always thinking ahead, always planning what happens if anything goes wrong.
But nothing’s wrong.
Not tonight.
Wren slips out of her coat and drapes it over a chair.The movement is delicate in a way that makes my palms itch.Her shoulders are curved inward just slightly, like she’s waiting for one of us to ask why she invited us in.Like she’s afraid one of us will say we shouldn’t be here.
