I was dreaming.Flashes from cameras were going off all around me as a hand tightened around my wrist, where no one could see. Every time I tried to pull away, the lights got brighter, and the fingers holding me dug in deeper.
I check the phone on the bedside table. Barely an hour has passed since I lay down.
Afraid the dream will come right back if I try to go back to sleep, I pull a sweater on over my pajamas and step out into the hall.
An uneasy feeling lingers, and I don’t want to be alone.
Lights are still on downstairs, which is no surprise. Quick peeks into open doorways confirm the other bedrooms are empty.
The kitchen is also empty, except for the reliable pot of cider on the warming burner. No one’s in the living room, but light shines up from the stairway that leads to the ops center.
I hesitate at the top of the steps, unsure who I’ll find if I go down. This late at night, Grizz might be working down there in his corner. Viper’s likely to be in hisalcove. Atlas?—
I stop myself before the thought finishes forming, and I go anyway.
The low electronic hum grows clearer as I descend. The world is being watched even while I sleep, or try to sleep, as the case may be.
Atlas is standing at his desk, already looking my way, even though my steps were quiet.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks. A day’s growth of silvered scruff accentuates the strong angles of his face. His eyes look more gray than blue.
I shake my head. “Bad dream.”
He pulls out a chair. “Have a seat.”
His thoughtful efficiency helps to pull me away from the remnants of my dream and into the present moment. I sit in the offered chair, tucking my feet up under me.
When I wrap my arms around myself for warmth, he steps out of the room and returns with a blanket, tucking it around my shoulders.
The way he anticipates my needs without me even having to ask makes my chest ache.
“Where are Grizz and Viper?”
“Walking the fence line. The sensors don't like the temperature swings.”
Several minutes of comfortable silence follow. Atlas continues to scan his monitor, taking a drink of coffee that’s probably cold. His throat works as he swallows, capturing my attention a few seconds longer than it should.
“Do you ever get tired of waiting?” I ask.
His brows lift. “Waiting for what?”
“The other shoe. The thing you can’t control.”
He draws in a deep breath, and his broad chest expands. “That’s most of life.”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “I always thought if I worked hard enough and planned carefully enough, I could avoid uncertainty. Turns out all it takes is one man with a charming smile and empty promises.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything.
“I hate feeling trapped.” I stare at my hands, where they clutch the ends of the throw blanket. My fingernails are all filed short, cuticles dry from the weather. “It’s like my life is on hold. I have to wait until someone else decides what happens next. I know I’m safer here than anywhere else, but some days, it feels like I don’t have any choices left.”
Atlas rolls his chair over next to mine and takes a seat, stretching out his long legs. He’s close enough that I can see the flecks of light in his eyes that match the gray in his hair.
“Everything could change with one phone call or one headline, and I can’t do a damn thing about it,” I say.
“Lack of control can be harder on some people than danger,” he says.
Maybe I shouldn’t be venting my frustrations to a person who’s doing everything they can to help me, but now that I’ve started,it’s hard to stop.
