Page 14 of Knotty Nights

Her brows rose as though surprised by the change in topic. She turned to stare out the window, putting some distance between us. My fingers almost wrapped around her arm to pull her back.

“I acquired it in a trade.” She played with the ties of her robe. “Although to be honest, I’m not sure what to do with it.”

“It would make a great art piece for a collector if you clean it up.”

She was almost hesitant as she said: “I was told it’s not functional anymore.”

“It might not be, but it would look pretty cool with a new coat of paint.”

“Are you interested in upcycling?” she asked. “If you are, I could show you around. The yard’s full of interesting things that could be art if you look closely enough.”

“Yes,” I said quickly, the knot of anxiety in my chest easing a little. I wanted to know more about this omega, even if it was through her collection of scrap metal. “I would love that.”

Her smile held the tiniest crease of doubt.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “Let’s go. I’ll show you around.”

FIVE

Jazmine

She wasreal.

A part of me had been convinced that Arya, no, Atlas, was nothing more than an elaborate fake profile created by the start-up to fool lonely omegas, but watching her in my scrapyard, inspecting layers upon layers of metal was…strange.

Not only was she real, but she was here for me. For my Heat.

The thought made my thighs clench.

Is this what Rosie meant when she said blessed by the algorithm gods?

I cleared my throat.

“There are different grades of metal,” I explained, nudging a pile beside us. “Most people think junk is just… junk. But that’s not how it works. There are different levels of junk.”

She glanced over at me and pushed her glasses up her nose. There was something about the way she watched me, as though she genuinely cared about what I was saying, even though it was literally about junk. Something stupidly warm flared in my chest.

“Grade A is the best,” I continued. “Those are usually pure metals like aluminum or copper. We get a lot of copper because we’re close to an airfield.”

She nodded.

“Airplane parts are usually in the pure metal category, so even though it’s not worth anything as awing,it’s still worth its weight when its melted down.”

“It’s a pity to melt it down,” she muttered.

“True.” I shrugged. “The pile behind you is grade B.”

She turned to inspect the haphazard stack. “Those are mixed metals that are a little rusty, but not rusty enough to be worthless.”

Her attention drifted back to the wing, and I felt the loss of her gaze keenly.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Atlas said quietly, running her fingers over the metal. I watched the way they slid over the curves, greenish-blue veins creasing the back of her hand.

“Most people haven’t,” I quipped, wondering if I should warn her away from the rusted edges. “That’s why these things have ended up in my junkyard.”

“People see what’s on the outside, not the true value of things,” she said, rapping her knuckles against the wing. A hollow sound resounded from inside.