He pinned him down. Bent him over. Made him beg and didn't stop.
The rage comes slowly. Not the explosive kind—something deeper. Colder. It starts in my chest and spreads outward, turning my blood to ice and my thoughts to static.
"His heat doesn't equal consent and you fucking know it." Atlas is in Zero's face now, close enough that I can see the tendons straining in his neck. "You smelled his fear—you admitted that. And you didn't stop. That's why you don't get to be the one taking care of him now. That's why I need to be his primary—because you've already proven what you do when you get an omega alone."
Max. Sweet, guarded, broken Max who flinches at sudden movements and apologizes for taking up space. Max who hides his writing because he's afraid of being seen. Max who looked at me in the library like he was waiting for me to hurt him.
Now I know exactly why. And I know that I failed him too—I saw the aftermath, I confronted Zero, and I still let it go without getting the full truth.
"You told yourself a lie so you could keep going." Atlas's voice has gone quiet. Deadly. "That's not a mistake, Zero. That's a choice. And it's exactly why you don't get a say in how we handle Max's heat. You had your chance. You blew it."
I'm gripping the armrest so hard I hear the wood creak. My vision is tunneling. All I can see is Max's face—the way he looked at us tonight when we came into his room. The fear underneath the need. The way he trembled when we touched him.
He thought we were all like Zero.
He thought helping him through his heat was just going to be the basement all over again.
I can't be in this room anymore.
I can't look at Zero's face—the fury, the deflection, the way he's still trying to justify what he did. I can't listen to Atlas lay down rules like that's going to fix anything. I can't sit here rehashing what happened while Max is down the hall, alone, probably terrified that we're all the same.
I need to see him. I need to tell him that I'm not like Zero. That I would never—that Iwillnever—
I'm on my feet before I realize I've moved.
"Bane—" Atlas starts.
"I need to check on him." My voice comes out rough. Barely controlled. "I need to—he needs to know we're not all—"
I don't finish the sentence. I don't have to. Atlas's face shifts—understanding, maybe, or resignation—and he doesn't try to stop me as I shoulder past him toward the door.
The hallway feels endless. My footsteps echo against the hardwood, too loud in the quiet house. My heart is pounding, my hands are shaking, and all I can think about is Max's face. The fear in his eyes. The way he trembled when we touched him tonight.
He thought we were all like Zero.
He thought helping him through his heat was just going to be the basement all over again.
I have to fix this. I have to show him—
His door is open.
I stop in the threshold. My lungs forget how to work.
The room is empty. Bed unmade, sheets tangled like someone left in a hurry. Closet door hanging open, gaps on the hangers where clothes used to be. Drawers pulled out and rifled through, socks and underwear spilling over the edges.
The air still smells like him. Honey and vanilla and smoke. But it's fading. Going stale. The scent of someone who isn't here anymore.
No.No no no—
"Atlas!" My voice cracks. I don't care. "Zero! Get over here—now!"
Footsteps. Pounding down the hall. They appear in the doorway behind me, and I watch their faces as they take in the empty room. Watch the color drain from Atlas's skin. Watch Zero's expression shift from confusion to horror.
"He's gone." The words taste like ash. "He's not here. His bag is missing. He's gone."
I surge in and scan the room, desperate, looking for something. Anything. My eyes land on the nightstand.
His laptop. Still there. Screen dark but not closed.
