For one perfect moment, I thought he was going to speak.
His lips parted just slightly—enough to draw breath, enough to prepare a word. Something hovered there, unspoken, as if it had been waiting for the exact weight of silence between us to slip into. I froze, not with fear this time, but with a kind of morbid anticipation, the kind that blooms only when you know the person in front of you holds a question you’ve buried in your chest for too long.
And then—
“Atlas,” a voice called. Not mine. Not soft.
It was male, clipped, confident—the kind of voice that belonged to someone used to summoning princes and expecting them to come.
Atlas’s mouth shut with a quiet finality. His eyes flicked—once—to the edge of the corridor beyond the stairwell. Not annoyed. Not even surprised. Just… resi
