Page 55

XANDER

The road ahead was pitch black. The headlights carved through the dark, but they didn’t touch the pit in my chest. I clenched the wheel tighter, jaw set so hard it ached. I wasn’t spiraling. Not yet.

But I was furious.

Atlas had sent me on a wild goose chase. Told me Sol had answers—like dragging myself across state lines would suddenly make the pieces fall into place.

Sol didn’t even know why I was there.

Which meant Atlas knew exactly what he was doing.

Wasting my time. Keeping me out of the way.

I just couldn’t figure out why.

Why keep me in the dark? Why stall me now, when we were this close to understanding Eve’s power—and why the daema were drawn to her like moths to a wildfire if not for the very reasons we suspected?

The jeep jolted over a bump, yanking me back to the present. I refocused, fingers adjusting around the wheel. I was close. Just a little further and I’d be back at the cabin.

Back where I could finally do something. Confront Atlas. Check on Eve. Sort this mess out without more smoke and mirrors.

But as I turned onto the gravel path, a tight unease coiled low in my gut.

The trees pressed in, tall and skeletal in the headlights. The moon barely cut through the canopy, the shadows thick and heavy, like the dark was watching me back.

Something wasn’t right.

I told myself it was just the long drive. Sleep deprivation. My brain was circling too many puzzle pieces that refused to click.

But even I didn’t buy that.

I killed the engine.

Silence fell like a shroud. No birds. No wind. No voices.

The cabin sat in shadow, windows dark. Still. Too still.

And the longer I stared at it, the worse it got.

I stepped out of the jeep, gravel crunching under my boots like a warning. Cold air bit at my skin, damp and earthy. The scent of pine hung thick, clinging like a memory I couldn’t place.

I climbed the porch steps, each one louder than it should’ve been. My hand curled around the door handle. Cold. Unmoving.

I paused.

No light. No voices. No movement through the windows.

My phone buzzed as I checked the time—10:03 p.m.

Eve should’ve been on the couch by now, pretending not to doze off, letting Orion drone on with whatever book he’d grabbed just to keep her company.

But the place felt… hollow.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

“Eve?” My voice echoed. “Orion?”

No reply.

I moved fast—kitchen, hallway, every room. No signs of a struggle. No blood. No scorch marks. Just silence.

They were gone.

No note. No warning. No reason.

I stopped in the living room, heart pounding now as I scanned the space for something. Anything.

Orion’s truck wasn’t outside. Eve’s shoes weren’t by the door.

They left together. Voluntarily.

But why not say anything?

I pulled out my phone again and stared at the blank screen. No missed calls. No messages. No hint of where they’d gone—or why the place felt like it had been abandoned mid-thought.

I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to cage the panic clawing its way up my ribs.

They were fine. They had to be.

But this didn’t feel fine.

It felt like the air had been sucked out mid-breath. Like the whole cabin had exhaled… and never pulled back in.

Then—

A sound.

Gravel shifting beneath tires.

My eyes snapped open as headlights cut through the trees, throwing warped shadows across the cabin. Too late for a neighbor. Too smooth to be a stranger.

I didn’t hesitate. Boots pounding across the floor, I grabbed the door handle—cold, sharp against my skin—and flung it open.

Night air slapped me in the face. Damp. Electric.

The vehicle crawled to a stop.

The door opened, and Ragnar stepped out. His jaw was set, eyes stormy—until he saw me. His scowl faltered, anger folding into something closer to confusion.

Then the second door opened. Atlas stepped out, calm as ever. Too calm.

My gaze snapped to his face, reading every line. No surprise. No confusion. Just that same unreadable stillness that had been driving me insane.

He knew something.

I saw it in the set of his mouth. In the way he didn’t look at me.

This wasn’t news to him.

This had Atlas written all over it.

Heat surged.

I moved.

“Where are they, Atlas?!”

RAGNAR

The cabin appeared through the trees, barely distinguishable in the dark. Gravel crunched as we rolled to a stop, and I leaned back, exhaling sharply.

The metallic tang of blood still clung to my skin from earlier. I hadn’t said a word the whole drive back, but I’d been seething—not just at her, but at myself. I wanted answers. I wanted Atlas to tell me this hadn’t gone as far as I feared.

Atlas just sat there without comment. Usually, that strength grounded me. Tonight, it made me want to put my fist through something.

“Are you ever gonna tell me what the fuck’s going on?” I asked.

Atlas didn’t answer as we pulled to a stop. Jaw tight, I pushed out of the car.

Then Xander burst through the cabin’s front door like a storm. His icy exterior had melted entirely as he stalked towards our brother.

“Where are they, Atlas?!”

I blinked, looking at Atlas, then back at the man who looked like he was ready to explode. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Orion and Eve. They’re gone,” he bit out. “The cabin’s empty.”

I frowned. “Gone?”

“Yes, Ragnar. Gone. No truck. No note. No clue.”

I glanced at the dark windows behind him. No light. No warmth. No life. The place felt hollow.

I didn’t know why that made my stomach twist. I’d been waiting for Eve to slip up—for proof that she wasn’t who she claimed to be. And now that she was gone? I hated how wrong it felt.

Atlas just closed his door behind him and made his way toward Xander. “When did you get back?”

“Five minutes ago. I checked every room. They’re not here.”

I turned to Xander. “And you don’t know where they went?”

“If I knew, would I be asking you?” he snapped. His gaze shifted to Atlas, sharp as a blade. “You’re the one in charge. So where the hell are they?”

Atlas didn’t flinch. “They’re fine. They’re at a party.”

A party. The word landed like a slap.

My brows pulled together. “A party?”

The disbelief hit before the anger did.

Xander’s shock curdled into fury. “Why’d you send me away?”

“It’s not relevant.”

My shoulders stiffened. That wasn’t an answer. That was evasion. The kind Atlas used when he’d already crossed a line—and was just waiting for the rest of us to catch up.

“Not relevant?” Xander’s voice rose. “You sent me across the country on a fake errand!”

“I accounted for this,” Atlas said evenly. “I needed to see how the daema would react. I knew Orion wouldn’t resist taking her. It was the perfect way to flush them out.”

I stared at him. The words hit like a lead weight—because I’d said them first. Not like this. Not without telling her. Not without telling us.

I didn’t know who I was more furious at, Atlas or myself.

“You’ve lost your mind,” Xander said, stepping in close. “She’s not your experiment, Atlas! She’s an innocent woman you’re throwing in harm’s way—”

He stopped short, jaw clenched, barely keeping it together. I knew that feeling. The helpless fury that came from watching someone cross a line you thought was still up for debate.

Atlas didn’t blink. “She’s the key. The daema are circling her for a reason—and we needed to find out why. This was the fastest way.”

Xander laughed—sharp and bitter. “Fastest way? You‘d gamble her life on that?”

“Orion will keep her safe,” Atlas replied, like this was all still under control.

I watched them, heat rising beneath my skin. My gut twisted so hard I had to brace my hands on my thighs. Because I knew what was coming—I could feel it.

“You should’ve told us,” I said.

Atlas turned toward me. His lack of remorse only made it worse. Like this was just another step in his goddamn plan.

“Yeah, I suggested bait. But I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” my throat tightened, the words sticking. “She’s not—”

Atlas cocked a brow. “She’s not what, Ragnar?”

I stared at him. At the man I used to trust. The man who once made me believe in something bigger than all of us. Now, all I could see was how far we’d fallen.

“She’s not one of us,” I bit out. “She’s not a soldier. She didn’t ask for this. And you know it.”

“She’s not just human,” Atlas said coolly. “She’s something more. And you both know it.”

Xander stepped in again, voice like a knife’s edge. “If anything happens to her… I don’t care who you are. I’ll make you suffer.”

The man didn’t wait for a response. He just turned and stalked back to the jeep. I didn’t stop him. Couldn’t. Because a huge part of me just wanted to go with him. A second later, the engine roared to life, gravel spitting in angry bursts as he tore off into the dark.

Silence settled like ash.

I stared after him, every muscle coiled so tight I could barely breathe. The sound of the engine faded, but the fury didn’t. It throbbed under my skin, hot and choking.

“You’ve really done it this time,” I said, voice low. “This is a mistake, Atlas. A colossal fucking mistake.”

Atlas didn’t even blink. “I’ve made no mistake. Everything’s under control.”

“Control?” I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Xander’s hanging on by a thread. Orion’s going to knock your jaw loose when he finds out what you did. That’s not control—that’s you playing God again.”

Atlas tilted his head, the way he always did when he thought he was the only one in the room actually thinking. “You talk about chaos like you played no part in it.”

The words landed like a punch to the gut.

I sparked the match. He poured the gasoline.

“You always twist things, don’t you?” I snapped. “Turn logic into justification. People into pawns. Then expect the rest of us to carry the fallout like it was our idea all along. But this—this was different. She trusted us.”

“And you should trust me now,” he said. “Because for all your barking, you still don’t understand what’s at stake.”

“Then explain it to me! Because all I see is you gambling with her life—ours too.”

He said nothing, just stared toward the cabin.

“Tell me the truth,” I said. “What are you hiding?”

Still nothing.

“You’re gonna get us all killed,” I growled.

Atlas finally looked at me. “Plans change. Sacrifices have to be made.”

The words dropped like ice in my gut.

“This isn’t you,” I said, quieter now. “The Atlas I knew would’ve bled for us—not gambled with us. You’re too damn proud to see how far you’ve drifted.”

But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t soften. Just turned away, dismissing me like a lecture he didn’t have time to hear.

“Atlas!”

“Let’s go,” he said. “We need to prepare for the next steps.”

I stood there, staring after him, fists clenched and chest hollow. But still, I followed. Not out of loyalty. Not out of belief.

But because the line had already been crossed.

And there was no going back now.