'I was wrong. She isn't just suspicious… she knows.'
The thought knifed through Atlas's skull, leaving an ache behind his temples. He turned slowly, deliberately, as if his neck were made of iron. Aurora hovered just beyond him, her legs pressed together, body poised in that maddening way—effortless, graceful, untouchable.
Atlas craned his neck, gaze lowering onto her like a blade being drawn. His golden eyes burned with demand.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" His voice thundered in the airless dark, sharp enough to split stone.
Aurora tilted her chin, floating closer. Step by step through the void until she was nearly brushing against him. Her silver hair shimmered faintly with the glow of imprisoned torches, strands lifting like threads in unseen wind.
