ATLAS' POV.
The words made me frown.
“Are you sure?”
He shook his head slowly. “Not really. I mean, they come in flashes now—blurry, broken. Nothing clear like before.” He looked down at his hands, flexing them nervously. “But I can feel it. The same pull I used to feel before something bad happened, Atlas, and I hate it.”
A long silence settled between us.
I remembered those days—how his visions used to come without warning. Sometimes they saved lives; other times, they only brought fear and chaos.
“When did it start again?” I asked.
“Yesterday,” Chase said. “And then again this morning… right after the burial.”
I leaned back slowly, studying him from across the room. His posture was too tense, his voice too careful. Something was off.
“You’re not telling me everything, are you?”
