I stare at him suspiciously, because something just doesn’t feel right. Is he just to check on me or . . . what if he . . .? No, he wouldn’t sell his family, would he?
“Listen, I’m here to take you away,” he states. “It’s not safe for you.”
“I’m okay,” I state, but something tells me that he knows something. “Why are you so concerned about me?”
“We both know why you left three years ago,” he states, but something tells me that he knows more. “And things are bad right now.”
“You know a lot more, don’t you?” I cross my arms, trying to assess the danger. He wouldn’t harm me though. He might hate his siblings, but he wouldn’t do anything to me. “Don’t lie to me, Atlas. What do you know?”
He doesn’t answer right away, but I see it—the way his expression hardens, the way his fingers twitch slightly against the shelves. Finally, he says, “I know enough.”
I let out a slow breath. Maybe if he had been here before things wouldn’t be this bad. I have to ask, “So why didn’t you come sooner?”
Atlas exhales, raking a hand through his hair as his gaze hardens. “Because I was told it was handled. Malerick had it under control—until he didn’t.”
“He does,” I say, hoping that what Malerick has been saying is true. “He has people.”
“Sure, he has it now—but you’re in danger,” he counters, his voice cool, factual, non-negotiable. “And so is Maddie.”
“Did you hear about the horse?” I ask.
He nods slowly and then says, “Yeah, but I want to hear your side of things.”
So I do. I tell him about the picture taped to Hopper’s truck. About the break-ins, the bodies on my land. Lala. Atlas doesn’t move. Doesn’t react.
But his jaw tics, his fingers flexing slightly, his entire body coiled like a wire waiting to snap.
“No threatening calls?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. I don’t think so.”
He bobs his head. “And what did Mal say?”
“That we have to keep going like normal,” I say flatly. “Like everything is fine. Like we don’t know someone is watching us. The farmhands who arrived yesterday are also agents, I think.”
Atlas scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s stupid.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
He pushes off the counter, running a hand through his hair. “And Hopper? What is he doing? He should take his kid and ditch this place.”
I tense.
Atlas notices. He narrows his eyes slightly, and I swear to God I see amusement flicker across his face. “You fucked him, didn’t you?”
I choke on air. “Atlas?—”
He laughs, a real laugh, like this is the first thing to amuse him in months. “You fucking did. That’s what’s different about you.”
I glare at him. “That is not relevant.”
Atlas smirks, but his eyes darken slightly. “It’s relevant if it makes him a liability. It’s relevant if he’s going to play with you. You know how he is, Nysa.”
“Was,” I say, stopping him. “He was a teenager. You’re not the same kid either, Atlas. We’ve grown.”
“Oh, fuck, it’s worse than I thought,” he growls. Atlas straightens, rolling his shoulders back, like he’s making a decision in real time.
“What are you doing?” I ask suspiciously.
