Breakfast starts innocently enough. Apollo takes over the conversation, talking about the pack. I’m invested in every word that comes out of his mouth, and Atlas is invested in his meal. His cuts are precise, and nothing is messy on his plate. The meal is slightly awkward at the moment, but I’m sure all we need is time to figure each other out.
Atlas clears his throat and puts his fork down on his plate. He dabs at his mouth with his napkin and places his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers. “Tell us about you, Akia. Where are you from? How’d you end up here?” I knew this was coming, this line of questioning. I had just hoped that I’d have a little more time to pretend.
As much as I don’t want this, I guess it’s better to come from you now than to wait until later. We may still
