"Made you what?" Atlas stands. His voice has dropped into something dangerous. "Made you corner him? Made you take what you wanted without asking? Biology didn't do that, Zero. You did."
"You think I don't know that?" Zero's voice cracks. "You think I haven't been living with it every second since—"
He stops. Looks at me.
I'm curled into the chair, face half-hidden, trembling. I must look terrified. Traumatized.
The truth is more complicated. But I can't say that. Can't admit that under the fear, under the shame, there's something else. Something that responds to Zero's intensity even now. Something that remembers the way it felt to be wanted that badly.
So I stay silent. Let them see what they expect to see.
Zero's jaw tightens. The rage doesn't drain—it sharpens. Focuses.
"Are you serious right now?" His voice is low. Dangerous. "You drag us all in here at two in the morning to 'talk' and now you don’t even fucking say anything?"
I flinch. Say nothing.
"No." Zero closes the distance between us. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to sit there and play the victim and make me the bad guy without even—"
"Zero—" Atlas starts.
Zero ignores him. He's in front of me now, looming, and then his hand is on my arm—grip tight, hauling me up out of the chair.
"Look at me." His face is inches from mine. I can see the bloodshot in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the vein pulsing at his temple. "You wanted to clear the air? Then clear it. Say what you came here to say."
I'm frozen. Heart hammering. His scent flooding my senses—want, so much want it makes my head spin.
"Say it!" He shakes me. Just once. Hard enough that my teeth click together.
Then Bane is there.
He moves fast—faster than I would have expected—and his hand closes around Zero's wrist like a vice. "Let him go."
"Stay out of this."
"I said let him go." Bane's voice has dropped into something I've never heard from him. Cold. Absolute. "Now."
For a moment, nobody moves. Zero's grip on my arm is bruising. Bane's grip on Zero's wrist is just as tight. The two of them locked in a silent standoff while I dangle between them like a ragdoll.
Then Atlas is there too, his hand on Zero's shoulder, his voice low and lethal: "Release him. I won't ask again."
Zero's eyes don't leave mine. I see the fury there—the frustration, the desperation, the something underneath that he'll never name. He wants me to fight back. Wants me to scream at him, hit him, give him something he can push against.
I give him nothing.
His lip curls. "Pathetic."
He lets go.
I stumble back, catch myself on the arm of the chair. My arm throbs where his fingers dug in. There'll be bruises tomorrow.
Bane positions himself between me and Zero. A wall. A warning.
"Get out," Atlas says to Zero. His voice is ice.
"Gladly." Zero's already moving toward the door. "This whole thing is bullshit anyway. He doesn't want to talk. He wants us to grovel. To feel bad for wanting something we can't control." He stops at the door. Looks back at me one more time. "I'm not going to apologize for what I am. And I'm sure as hell not going to apologize for wanting you."
The door slams behind him.
