ATLAS' POV.
Selene stood on the staircase, halfway between the upper floor and the living room. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, nails digging into her sleeves. Her eyes were sharp, watching me in that way she always did—like she was searching for something she had no right to look for.
"Atlas." She said my name again, this time softer. But it wasn’t kindness.
It was curiosity. Hunger for information. It was Selene fishing.
I let out a slow breath. “It’s late, Selene. What are you doing up?”
She tilted her head slightly, studying my face, my damp hair, the fresh clothes clinging to my skin. “Couldn’t sleep,” she said. “You look like you couldn’t either.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t have the patience for whatever she came here to pull out of me. Selene could be exhausting
