I click the pen again. The sound is too loud in the quiet room.
"And now suddenly everyone knows, or—or suspects, or something, and I don't—" I shake my head. Set the pen down with a clatter. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say. I don't know where to start."
"Start with what you need." Atlas's voice is calm. Steady. An anchor in the chaos. "What do you need from us, Max?"
"I need to understand what's happening." The words come out in a rush. "Between all of us. Because right now it feels like I'm standing in the middle of a war I didn't start and I don'tknow the rules and everyone keeps making decisions about me without asking what I want."
"What decisions?" Bane asks.
"All of them." I turn to face him. "You decided I was a threat before you even knew me. You decided I didn't belong here, that I was just Margot's charity case taking up space. You made me feel like an intruder in my own home."
Bane's jaw tightens. He doesn't deny it.
I turn to Atlas. "And you—you lied to your father's face for me. Which means you know something. Maybe everything." I swallow hard. "I heard you through the door last last night. You and Zero. Talking about me like I was a problem to solve. Deciding what I needed, what I could handle, whether Zeroaskedme—" My voice cracks. "You never once thought to includemein that conversation. To ask me what happened. WhatIwanted."
Atlas's expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes shifts. A flicker of recognition. Of guilt.
I turn to Zero.
My throat closes up.
He's staring at me with those ice-blue eyes. Flat. Waiting. And suddenly all the words I had—all the accusations, all the hurt—they're gone. Lodged somewhere in my chest where I can't reach them.
I look away. Can't hold his gaze. My hand goes to my neck without thinking, rubbing at the spot where his teeth grazed skin. I can feel the heat creeping up my face. The shame.
"And you—" My voice comes out barely a whisper. I clear my throat. Try again. "You—"
Nothing. I've got nothing.
The silence stretches. I can feel Atlas and Bane watching. Waiting for me to say what Zero did. To name it. But naming it means thinking about it, and thinking about it meansremembering the weight of him, the heat of him, the way my body—
I flinch. Actually flinch. My shoulders curling inward, making myself smaller.
"What?" Zero's voice is hard. Challenging. "Say it. Whatever you're thinking, just say it."
I shake my head. Stare at the floor. My hand is still on my neck.
"You can't even look at me." Something shifts in Zero's tone. Bitter. Raw. "That's how much I fucked you up, huh? Can't even be in the same room without—"
"Zero." Atlas's voice is sharp. A warning.
"No, let's do this." Zero pushes off the window. I hear his footsteps on the hardwood, getting closer, and I shrink back in the chair. Can't help it. "He wanted a conversation. He wanted to clear the air. So let's clear it."
He stops a few feet from me. I can smell him now—gunpowder and winter and something darker underneath. My stomach clenches.
"You want to know why I did what I did?" His voice is rising. Getting louder. "You want me to apologize for losing my mind when you showed up at the basement smelling like—like that? Like everything I've ever wanted? Do you have any idea what your scent does to me?"
I press myself deeper into the chair. Make myself smaller.
"It's in my head all the time." Zero's practically snarling now. "Every minute of every day. I can't think. Can't sleep. Can't focus on anything without your fucking scent crawling under my skin and making me—"
"That's enough." Bane's voice cuts through. Hard.
"Is it? Because he wanted honesty. Here's honesty." Zero gestures at me—at my hunched shoulders, my averted eyes, my hand still pressed against my throat. "Look at him. Look at whatI did. You think I don't know? You think I don't see it every time he flinches when I walk into a room?"
"Then maybe stop making it worse," Atlas says coldly.
"How am I making it worse? By telling the truth? By admitting that his scent makes me fucking feral?" Zero laughs. The sound is ugly. Broken. "You want to blame someone, blame biology. Blame whatever sick joke of nature made him smell like that and made me—"
