Page 96 of Heat Lightning

The room was empty.

Jeffrey perched on his windowsill, ears perked like he spied something below. Atlas’ water bottle sat on the counter, and the kitchen was cleaned up from the disarray we’d left it in. Had he gotten up just for that? And where was he, now?

The faint sound of whispering voices drifted in through the balcony door, cracked to let in a lake-cooled breeze. The back porch light flared to life down below, illuminating the lawn.

“What do you mean, it hasn’t worked? The doctor said⁠—”

“Shh! Keep your voice down. You’ll wake him…”

The hushed voices grew too quiet to hear.

Dread thickened in my veins, making my steps heavy as I slowly crept closer to the door and peered down into the yard, only to see…

Gwen.

Wait, what? Why was she here?

She stood with her arms crossed against the pre-dawn chill, leaning forward to speak in hushed tones to someone hovering in the shadow of the balcony. “Then you need to seal the bond,” she said, face grave. “Today. I won’t watch you kill yourself over this any longer.”

What the fuck?

“I’m trying, but I need more suppressants first.”

Icy fingers pricked my skin. I knew that voice. I knew it so intimately, I could single him out blindfolded in a stadium of people.

No. It can’t be. It can’t.

The figure stepped out from the shadow of the deck, revealing…

Atlas. The Masked Man. My Masked Man.

Except he wasn’t masked anymore.

Dressed in only a pair of joggers slung low on his hips, as if he’d rushed out of bed and thrown them on to make it out here before I realized he was gone, he held the snarling skull mask in his clenched fist. His back was to me, displaying the tattoos I’d lovingly traced only hours ago. I couldn’t see his face, but he had thick, dark hair stuck up at all angles, like he’d just pulled the mask off.

“No,” Gwen said, angry. “I’m not getting you more of that poison. You need to do this without them.”

“It won’t be fair,” the stranger I’d thought I knew growled. “You have access at the clinic. Just enough for a few days, please.”

“And get fired and prosecuted for stealing a highly regulated substance? Yeah, that’d be great for all of us. Not happening.”

“I’m your boss. I won’t allow that to happen.”

“It doesn’t work like that, and you know it.”

“Please, Gwen, I just need—” he began, but he was interrupted.

Not by me, or Gwen, but by the sound of slamming car doors followed by the excited shout of someone much smaller.

“Uncle Atty!”

Enzo, wearing pajamas with tiny, smiling octopuses all over them, came bounding down the path, backlit by the floodlight over the garage of the main house. Mr. Marino jogged behind him like he’d escaped containment.

My world shifted on its axis. What I thought was solid bedrock fell out from beneath my feet like sinking sand.

Atlas turned, eyes wide in shock to see Enzo running toward him. And then he looked up at the house, scanning the shadowed windows, before his eyes landed on me, standing at the open balcony door.

Shock turned to horror and then desperation. “Max.”