It’s a lot. It’s too much.
I stand there, frozen, as his hand drops from my face. He takes a step back, his eyes never leaving mine. For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Finally, he clears his throat. “I should go. You probably need some time alone.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He turns and walks to the door, pausing for a moment with his hand on the knob. He looks back at me but doesn’t say anything else, that unreadable mask fully in place again.
And then he’s gone, leaving me alone with a head full of unhelpful thoughts.
I stare at the closed door, my head spinning from everything that just happened. But as I stand there, I realize something has shifted inside me. The ache in my chest isn’t quite as sharp as it was before. It’s still there, a dull throb that I know will never fully go away, but it feels more manageable now.
I take a deep breath, my eyes scanning the room. My father’s presence is everywhere—in the worn leather of his chair, the faded spines of his favorite books, the lingering scent of his cologne. For the first time since his death, being surrounded by his things doesn’t feel like drowning. It feels like coming home.
My gaze lands on his desk, and suddenly, I know what I need to do. If I want answers about what’s really going on, I need to start digging. And what better place to start than right here, in the heart of my father’s world?
13
QUINN
I wakeup the next morning, my head groggy from a restless night filled with unsettling dreams. As I stretch and yawn, the events of yesterday come flooding back. Killian’s confession, the weight of my grief, the determination to uncover the truth about my father’s work.
I drag myself out of bed and shuffle toward the door, already anticipating what—or rather who—I’ll find on the other side. Sure enough, as I crack it open, there’s Atlas, slumped against the wall.
It’s become an annoying part of my morning routine, this silent guard duty of his. But this morning, something’s different. His eyes are closed, his breathing deep and even.
He’s asleep. Fully asleep.
I pause in the doorway, taking a moment to really look at him. In sleep, the hard lines of his face soften, and I’m struck by how young he looks. How peaceful. It’s a stark contrast to the cold, angry Atlas I’ve grown used to seeing lately.
A familiar ache blooms in my chest as I study his face. I miss him. Not the Atlas who’s here now, keeping watch over me with steely determination, but the Atlas I used to know. The one who would flash me that occasional, secret grin that made my heartskip a beat. The one whose eyes would roam over my body—unashamed and unreserved—anytime he saw me.
I miss the quiet easiness we used to have back when we both thought we could trust each other. Now, there’s only this bitter tension between us, a wall of anger and unspoken words that I don’t see a way around.
And while there may, in fact, not be a way around the hard, hurt feelings we share, I can spot a clear path around the man himself.
Not that I even care so much about getting away from him, if I’m being honest. I just don’t like him guarding me. Simple as that.
And fuck him for thinking he can.
I tiptoe forward, carefully stepping over his outstretched legs. Just as I think I’m in the clear, his hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist.
“Shit,” I hiss, stumbling and barely catching myself against the wall.
“Going somewhere?” His voice is rough with sleep, but his grip is firm.
I grit my teeth as I slowly turn to face him, just barely censoring the half-dozen angry replies that are instantly on the tip of my tongue.
“I was hoping to avoid this little dance today,” I grind out instead, because it just so happens to be the truth.
Atlas pushes himself to his feet, his eyes narrowing. “You know I can’t let you wander off alone.”
“Right, because I’m such a danger to myself,” I snap, yanking my arm free. “Or is it because I’m a danger to you?”
His jaw tightens, and I have to suppress a small smile. I can’t be expected to clamp down on every sharp remark, can I?
“Where are you headed?”
I cross my arms, meeting his gaze. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m going to look into my father’s work. I don’t think he would have hidden something like this from me, but I have to know for sure.”