"I'm aware of that."
"Are you? Because you're treating him like an asset to be managed, not a person to be—"
"To be what, Zero? Claimed? Fucked? Owned?" Atlas spins around, and his composure cracks—just slightly, just enough for me to see the rawness underneath. His hands are shaking. Atlas's hands never shake. "Because that worked out so well in the basement, didn't it?"
The words land like a grenade.
I go still. The basement. I was the one who found Max the next morning—saw him in the kitchen, moving like someone who'd been hurt, couldn't sit down without wincing, wouldn't make eye contact with anyone. I went to Atlas. Told him something was wrong. That I thought Zero had done something.
We confronted him. Zero had a bruise on his jaw the size of Max's fist. He admitted Max had come to him, that he'd smelled Max's scent and couldn't resist. But he never gave us the full story. Just said Max "wanted it." That he didn't say no.
Atlas let it go then. I shouldn't have.
"Atlas—" Zero's voice carries a warning.
"No." Atlas steps closer, and there's something dangerous in his posture now. Something I've never seen directed at one of us. "Last time, you gave me scraps. Told me he 'came to you.' That his body 'wanted it.' That he didn't say no." His voice drops, deadly quiet. "This time, I want the truth. All of it. What exactly did you do to him in that basement?"
Zero's jaw locks. His hands curl into fists at his sides. "I already told you—"
"You told menothing." Atlas is circling now, slow and predatory, like a shark scenting blood. "You told me what you wanted me to hear. Now tell me what actually happened. Because I'm done pretending I don't know my brother assaulted our stepbrother under our own roof."
The word assaulted lands like a blow. I see Zero flinch.
"That's not—" Zero's voice is strained. "I didn't—"
"Then whatdidyou do?" Atlas stops circling. Plants himself in front of Zero. "He could barely walk the next day, Zero. He couldn't sit down without wincing. He flinched every time someone mentioned your name. So tell me—what did you do that left him like that?"
My stomach is in knots. I remember Max's face that morning. The way he moved like his body hurt. The way he looked at Zero after that like a cornered animal. I knew it was bad. But I never pushed for details.
Zero's jaw works. He won't meet Atlas's eyes. "I cornered him. I kissed him."
"And?"
"I... touched him. I asked but—."
"Touched him how?" Atlas's voice is ice. "Be specific."
Zero's hands clench at his sides. "I pinned him down. Bent him over one of the benches. Ground against him."
The image hits me like a fist to the chest. Max—small, scared, overwhelmed—trapped against the weight bench while Zero—
"He was saying no, wasn't he?" Atlas's voice is quiet now. Deadly. "You told me he didn't say no. But that was a lie."
Zero doesn't answer. Which is answer enough.
"Wasn't he?"
"He—" Zero swallows hard. "His body was saying yes. His scent—"
"I didn't ask about his body or his scent. I asked if he said no."
The silence stretches. Suffocating.
"Yes." Zero's voice is barely a whisper. "He said don’t. He said please. He said… it hurt." He swallows. "And I told myself his body was saying yes. That the heat was what mattered. That he wanted it even if he couldn't admit it."
I can't breathe.
It's worse than I thought. So much worse. We confronted him—I heard him admit Max "came to him," heard him say Max's body "wanted it"—but I never imagined he'd kept going while Max was begging him to stop.
