I tap the tip of my boot against Nyx's. He's directly across from me and when his eyes meet mine, there's unmistakable pain.
I mouth, "What's wrong?" as Ronan chats on.
Nyx shakes his head and offers me a false smile. "I'm fine," he mouths back.
I wrack my brain to recall a memory of Nyx lying to me before but come up empty. Something is wrong but I won't be getting answers tonight. With the carriage pulling up to Harland House, I allow my line of sight to linger on Nyx a half-second longer before I hop out of the buggy and wave them onward.
My feet remained glued to the pavement until they disappear down the street. The sun is just beginning to set. By that standard, Nyx will have a very long night ahead of him. As much as I want to help him, I have to purge him from my mind for now. I have a date. One that is greatly needed.
I trot up the steps and unlock the front door, hanging my key on my hook. I notice Atlas' key is in its place and my heart leaps.
I didn't expect him to beat me home today. I bound up the stairs to the fourth floor and when I open our bedroom door, I find it empty. I furrow my brow. Maybe he's upstairs painting. But he's only ever up there late in the evening when he can't sleep.
I drop my things on the mattress and pad up the steps into the attic. Sure enough, when I turn the corner, I spot him at his easel. Memories of the other night pop into my mind and I smile.
He inhales deeply and his shoulders hunch. Something is wrong.
I approach slowly, observing him with keen interest. He breathes in and out rhythmically, each one sounding labored. When I get closer, I realize he's not painting or sketching. He's sitting with his hand clutched to his chest. Is he panicking?
"Atlas," I whisper. "What's wrong?"
I kneel in front of him and look up into his teary gaze. I press my hands to his cheeks.
"What happened?" I search his face for any clues to his breakdown. "Talk to me, love. Please, talk to me, Atlas."
He leans downward, placing his forehead against mine. "I… I saw her."
"Saw who?" I tip his head back. "Who did you see?"
"When I touched Vidarr," he whispers, his voice strained. "When I touched Vidarr, he showed me a vision. A vision of Naya Valanor's final stand."
"You saw Naya Valanor?" My eyes widen. Chills spider walk up my spine and goosebumps are left in its wake. "What happened?"
"There was a great battle. One unlike anything I could have ever imagined." He begins, slowly finding his voice, wiping the lone tear streaking down his face. "Darkness. Blood. Suffering. I could feel it, sense it, see it, smell it. And then I saw her. As if I was seeing her through Vidarr's eyes. Her armor was splatteredwith blood, her face dirty with soot and ash. Her broken smile as she asked Vidarr to face their enemies one last time."
"Was that all you saw?" I ask, reverence at the forefront of my question because I know what it feels like to have a vision.
He shakes his head. "I saw her transform into her Nox state."
"Was it like your Nox state?"
Atlas nods, once again overwhelmed. "I kept it together after I saw it. There were so many people around staring at me and Vidarr. Then I went to the council meeting." He puffs out a labored breath. "Once I got home, I couldn't contain it anymore. It's as if I saw… "
"What?" I press. "Please talk to me. It's as if you saw what?"
He swallows hard, his bloodshot eyes finding mine. "It's as if I saw my future."
"Naya Valanor didn't die in battle," I try and fail to reassure him.
"No, but Oryn Dara did."
"I'm not Oryn. You're not Naya," I say more forcefully than necessary.
"No, we're not." He agrees but I sense he has more to say.
"But?"
"I refused to allow myself to entertain the thought before, but once Vidarr chose me, found me because of Naya's magic –" His hand touches my face. "Promise me, no matter what happens on the battlefield, you won't sacrifice yourself like Oryn did."
