I frown. “Why?”
“So people underestimate me,” he says calmly. “So they don’t know where I’m looking. Or how much I see.”
I can’t decide if this is admirable, impressive, or unsettling. “Am I included in that?” I ask.
He steps closer. Not close enough to touch, but near enough that my body is suddenly very aware of him.
“I keep my distance so I can do my job effectively,” he says. “Emotions complicate judgment.”
The scene from earlier plays in my mind. Silas appearing at my side, shielding my body, making sure I was safe.
“You ran toward gunfire today,” I say, barely above a whisper.
He lifts his chin and strokes a hand over his thick beard, smoothing it the same way he did his jacket. “That wasn’t emotion. That was doing what needed doing.”
I take a step backward and lean against the doorframe.
“You don’t have to call it emotion,” I say quietly. “I felt it anyway.”
He stares at me, eyes unscrutable as he retreats behind walls I have no idea how to scale. His shoulders square like armor snapping back into place.
I walk away with the strange certainty that he and I are getting closer, and also that Silas Mercer is doing everything in his power to keep that from happening.
CHAPTER 28
GRIZZ
I should have known better than to favor a side when Atlas is around.
He’s been watching me from the porch while I secure the hinge on the south gate, and his silence is heavier than the cold air settling into my shoulder. Jaw clenched, I finish tightening the bolt with one hand. Then I straighten too fast.
Pain steals my breath.
Atlas gets to his feet. “Drop the wrench.” His voice is irritatingly calm.
I flex my fingers like nothing’s wrong.
“Grizz.”
That tone, the one he used on patrol, makes my teeth grind. I set the wrench down and roll my shoulder a few times. The joint protests all the while.
Atlas comes down the steps, tracking my movements as if he’s switched eyes with Viper. “How long?” he demands.
“Gate iced over,” I say. “Slipped and tweaked it.”
“You’ve been guarding that arm since breakfast.”
I snort and ignore him.
“You’re not as subtle as you think when you’re hurt,” he says.
I shift my weight and instantly regret it.
Atlas’s jaw sets. “You’re seeing the doctor.”
“No.”
“It wasn’t a suggestion.”
