Page 62 of Atlas
I nod, mute.
Because Iamhiding something. A case file. A son. A war I’m quietly waging without his knowledge. And a man, Tom, who saw straight through me and didn’t flinch. And I . . . liked it.
Anthony brushes a hand down my arm, lingering for a second too long.
“You’re lucky I’m an understanding man.”
The words steal the breath from my lungs.
Because they sound like a threat.
Because I can feel the steel cage forming again, only now, it’s not Damien’s name on the lock.
Atlas
It’s just past noon when I hear the sound of heels on concrete. Not the kind that belong here. Not boots. Not the clunky stomp of club life.
She always walks like she knows where she’s going, even when she doesn’t.
I look up from the engine I’m elbow-deep in, grease on my forearms and sweat sticking to the back of my neck. And there she is.
Anita.
Black trousers, tucked white shirt, sunglasses perched high. Her hair’s scraped back, sleek as ever. But her shoulders look tight, like the weight she’s carrying today is heavier than usual.
She doesn’t see me right away. She’s talking to Nyx, who nods and gestures towards the office. Paperwork for Kade, no doubt. He’s coming out on licence next week after a brief stint inside for assault.
She steps into the office without a glance in my direction, and I tell myself to leave it. To stay in the garage, finish what I’m doing, let her handle the job and go.
But my feet don’t listen.
I wipe my hands and follow, pausing in the doorway like I’ve done a hundred times before.
She’s standing at the desk, flicking through a document, frowning down at it like the words are trying to escape her.
“You always did hate paperwork,” I say softly.
She startles, just a flicker, then looks up. There’s a pause. It’s long enough to be awkward. Long enough to feel like the past few months are thick between us, taking up all the air.
“I didn’t know you were here,” she says.
I shrug. “Didn’t knowyouwere coming.”
“I’m just sorting Kade’s release conditions,” she says, lifting the sheet in her hand. “Axel needs to sign. I won’t stay long.”
“You can.” I lean against the doorframe. “You used to.”
She looks at me, and her expression softens just a touch. “That was before.”
“Before what?”
She doesn’t answer.
I nod and glance down at my boots, then back up. “You look tired.”
She laughs under her breath, but it’s hollow. “It’s been a long year.”
“I noticed.” I step farther inside, giving her space to leave if she wants. “You alright?”
