I stare at him, my heart hammering so hard I'm surprised no one else can hear it.
Atlas is lying. So easily, so completely, filling in details that make the story plausible—work pressure, public humiliation, escalation. He's giving Richard something to believe. Something that makes sense.
Something that doesn't involve me.
Richard's jaw works. The vein at his temple is still pulsing, but some of the rigid fury in his shoulders has eased. He wants to believe it. I can see it in his face. He wants this to be what Atlas is selling—a work dispute between brothers, heated but ultimately manageable. Normal.
"And you?" Richard looks at Zero. "You agree with that assessment?"
Zero's eyes are still on Atlas. Something passes between them—a silent conversation I can't read. A threat. A warning. A negotiation.
"Yeah," Zero says finally. The word sounds like it's being dragged out of him with pliers. "That's what happened."
Richard exhales. Long. Slow. The breath of a man who knows he's not getting the full truth but has decided to accept the partial one.
"Fine." He uncrosses his arms. "You want to tear each other apart over business, you do it at the office. Not in my house. Not in front of—" His eyes flick to me, just for a second. "Not in front of family."
Atlas nods. "Understood."
"And you're paying for the wall. And the bourbon. And whatever else you broke up there."
"Of course."
Richard turns away, moving toward the wet bar in the corner. Done. Or at least, done for now. The interrogation is over, the lie has held, and I should feel relieved.
I don't feel relieved.
I feel like I'm going to throw up.
Margot's hand touches my shoulder. Light. Gentle. I flinch before I can stop myself.
"Max." Her voice is soft, meant just for me. "Come with me for a minute?"
I look up at her. She's smiling, but it doesn't reach her eyes. There's worry there. The same worry that's been creeping into her expression for weeks now, every time she looks at me and sees something she can't name.
"I—" My voice catches. I clear my throat. "Sure."
She takes my arm—loosely, carefully, like I'm something fragile—and guides me toward the back of the house. Away from the living room. Away from Richard and his questions. Away from Zero's dead-eyed stare and Atlas's careful lies.
The sliding glass door opens onto the back patio, and suddenly I'm outside. The night air hits me like a wall—cool, sharp, carrying the salt-and-pine smell of the lake. I breathe in deep. Try to steady myself. Try to stop the trembling in my hands that started the moment Zero looked at me like I was something to destroy.
"Walk with me?" Margot asks.
I nod. Don't trust my voice.
We take the stone path that winds around the side of the house, past the garden beds Margot has been slowly filling with lavender and rosemary, down toward the dock. The moon is out—nearly full, hanging low over the water, painting everything in shades of silver and shadow. It's beautiful. Peaceful. The kind of night I would have loved, before.
Before everything went wrong.
Margot walks slowly beside me. Matching my pace. Not pushing. Not prying. Just... present. The way she's always been. The way she was when I was sixteen and she found me at my worst—a broken foster kid who'd been told for years that he was disgusting, unnatural,wrong—and she sat with me and told me that whatever I was, whatever I became, she would love me anyway.
I believed her then.
I'm not sure I believe anything anymore.
"I've missed you," she says quietly.
I glance at her. "I've been around."
