NOAH
Footsteps in the hallway. Same weight, same rhythm.
Noah's eyes opened. The footsteps passed his door, kept going.
Light slipping in around the curtains. Bothered his eyes. He pulled the pillow over his face, pressed down.
Adapt. Don't resist. Adapt.
Atlas came to mind. He kept the pillow on his face, pretended to look at the ceiling through it.
When did I last see him?
Couldn't find a clear date. More than a week...
His throat burned slightly.
"God... I miss you so much," he whispered; the sound too small to fill the room.
He lay like that for a while. Then decided to get up.
His foot hit the floor—no dizziness this time. He didn't feel as weak as the first day. This was adaptation too.
Walked to the window. Opened it and cold air hit his face hard; his shoulders shivered involuntarily, then recovered. He breathed deep. Cold filled his lungs.
Looked down. A guard standing in the garden. The moment the guard noticed Noah looking up, the man raised his head too.
Noah turned his gaze away immediately; focused on the corner of the wall, an empty spot.
Soon a second guard appeared. Brief conversation, slight head movements... One turned back inside, the other stayed.
Shift change at this hour.
He noted it mentally.
Without checking the time, he could more or less figure out where in the day they were.
Knock at the door.
"Good morning, sir."
Guard came in, set the tray on the usual table. Gave a small greeting without raising his eyes much, left.
Noah looked at the tray. Coffee, eggs, toast.
Breakfasts with Atlas came to his mind; the kitchen, laughter, stupid jokes.
A weight settled under his jaw.
Stop. Not now.
He picked up the coffee cup. Gripped it with both hands so they wouldn't shake; the warm porcelain heated the inside of his fingers. Took a small sip.
Ate some of the breakfast; not because he was hungry, but because he needed to seem "normal."
In between he looked out the window. Followed the guard's route in the garden.
Tree, fence, corner, back. Same walk, same turning points.
Routine is good. Routine doesn't make mistakes.
There was silence for a while. The house wasn't silent; a distant door sound, but everything inside the room was soft.
Then the door knocked again.
"Noah? May I come in?"
It was Sophie.
Noah waited a few seconds without answering. Listened to the tone of her voice, then:
"Yeah," he said.
Sophie came in, closed the door behind her. Moved to her usual chair, looked first at the tray, then at Noah.
"You look a little more rested today," she said.
"How are you feeling?"
Noah wasn't standing; he was half-leaning against the chair, shoulders straight.
He lowered his gaze to the carpet for a moment, then turned it to Sophie.
"I'm... okay."
There was no complaint in his voice, no plea for sympathy. Flat. Controlled.
"Do you know what day it is?" she asked.
Noah thought for a moment. Roughly counted the days in his head but couldn't get it exactly.
"No," he said. "Not exactly."
"December seventeenth."
He nodded slightly.
"Right."
Sophie gave a light breath.
"Christmas is close," she said. "What would you usually do this time of year?"
The plan he'd talked about with Atlas came to mind; vacation, somewhere warm, his laughter.
His chest tightened briefly, his shoulders dropped for a moment. He immediately recovered, straightened his posture.
"Friends," he said. "I'd spend it with friends."
Sophie smiled.
"Friends are good."
Noah also showed a small, empty smile.
"Yeah."
There was a moment of silence. Sophie was watching him; Noah felt the weight of her gaze but didn't avoid it, just shifted his eyes to other points at short intervals.
"You?" he asked. "What do you do?"
"Family," said Sophie.
"Every year. Same house, same people."
"Do you have kids?"
As Noah asked, his voice wasn't curious; he just asked it like an ordinary question.
Sophie shook her head.
"No."
Noah just said "hmm" and moved his shoulder slightly. Didn't push the topic.
Another moment of silence.
Move. Adapt.
"Could we... go outside?" he said. "Just to walk a little."
Sophie studied him for a brief moment; there was a meaning of "good sign" in her eyes.
"Sure," she said. "If you feel up to it."
"I do."
He took his coat, didn't pull the zipper all the way up; put his hands in his pockets. His fingers rubbed against each other inside the fabric.
As they passed through the corridor, he heard two guards talking; didn't try to pick out the words, just remembered where the sounds came from. He now knew how many steps the stairs had, didn't count but knew.
When they went outside, the cold air had a different kind of silence.
Some of the grass was hard, icy in the shaded areas. Noah adjusted his steps carefully; putting his foot fully on the ground, trying not to slip. Each time he breathed, a thin cloud formed in the air.
"Do you exercise?" Sophie asked.
Noah tilted his head slightly and looked at her. The corner of his mouth curved very slightly.
"Yeah. Tennis. Climbing. Swimming."
"Tennis?" Sophie smiled. "I play too."
Noah didn't respond; just continued walking with a short sniff through his nose. While his eyes pretended not to look around, he noticed the camera at the corner of the building.
He pushed his hand deeper into his coat pocket.
"So you like the cold?" said Sophie. "Most people don't ask to walk in December."
Noah shrugged slightly.
"Keeps me awake."
What he said was true; the cold kept his brain from being foggy.
"What else do you like?" Sophie asked.
Atlas appeared very clearly in his mind for a moment; his laughter, his smell. Noah tightened his jaw slightly, then released it.
"Sports," he said. "Friends. Books."
Sophie nodded.
"Books are good. They keep your mind busy."
Noah didn't say anything. A few steps passed in silence; the sound under his shoe, the faint hum of a car in the distance... All of it like an overlapping background.
As they turned the corner of the house, Noah hesitated for a brief moment. There was no camera on that wall. He marked in his mind where the path led, but didn't break his walking rhythm.
When they went inside, they moved to the study.
A guard brought tea; set the tray on the table and left silently.
Noah walked slowly inside the room. Stopped in front of a bookshelf, touched the spines of some books with his fingertips. One was older, leather-bound; he pulled it out, felt its weight without opening the cover, put it back in place.
Sophie was watching him.
Noah turned his head slightly to her, then sat in the opposite chair. Took the teacup in his hand; this time holding it with one hand, his wrist steady.
"Could you give me a book?" he said. "To read. For here."
Sophie's eyebrow lifted slightly, then immediately lowered.
"Of course," she said. "What kind of book?"
"Novel," said Noah. "Doesn't matter much."
"Any title in mind?"
He looked at empty space for a moment, then turned to her.
"Pride and Prejudice."
The corner of Sophie's mouth curved.
"Jane Austen."
"Yeah."
"I've read it," she said. "Twice. High school and college."
Noah nodded slightly.
"It's... easy to read."
"Good choice," said Sophie. "I'll bring it to you tomorrow."
"Thank you."
"Maybe we can talk about it when you've read some."
"Sure."
The conversation ended on its own. The room's silence returned.
Noah took another sip from his tea, set the cup on the table.
"Is there a room for working out?" he asked. "Gym, or something."
Sophie tilted her head slightly to the side.
"I'm not sure," she said. "We can check."
They walked together in the corridor. Noah kept his steps slow, looking at the doors around, door handles, lock marks; without dwelling on any of them more than necessary.
At the end of the corridor they found a small room; treadmill, stationary bike, some weights, a mat.
"This will do," said Sophie.
Noah looked around.
"Treadmill works?" he asked, without checking with his finger.
"Last time I checked, yes. If anything's off, tell someone," said Sophie.
Then she turned to him. "You can use it whenever you want."
"Okay."
As she turned toward the door, Sophie said, "I'll leave you to rest. See you tomorrow, Noah."
"See you."
As Noah went up to his own room, he held the stair railing for a short time; the metal was cold, numbing his fingers.
As he passed the guard, the man made a small respectful gesture; Noah just nodded his head slightly.
Entered his room and closed the door.
Took a step or two, then stopped. He noticed the emptiness in his stomach; not from hunger, from tiredness.
His shoulders dropped slightly.
How do I get out of here?
He didn't say the question out loud but the words were clear in his mind.
Went to the window and opened it again. Cold air poured in; this time he allowed himself to feel cold. Sat in the chair, looked at the sky. The clouds were heavy, the air close to darkening.
He tried not to think about anything for a while. Just watched the movements in the garden: someone passing in the distance, the door opening and closing, lights turning on.
The door opened. The guard set the dinner tray on the table.
"Dinner, sir."
Noah was content with just nodding. When the guard left, the sound of the door closing came a bit harsh; made a small echo in the room.
"Damn," he muttered. There was neither anger nor panic in his voice; just tiredness.
Went to the table and ate some. Didn't care whether he tasted it or not. Didn't feel full or hungry.
Then lay down on the bed.
Looked at the ceiling.
Atlas's face, Sunny's tail, Luna's purring, his friends' laughter... All of them passed by in turn, briefly. He didn't dwell on them; didn't try to avoid them either. They just came and went.
Two drops of tears ran from his eyes; mixed into the pillow before spreading on his face.
Has Atlas forgotten me?
He didn't search for an answer.
Pulled the blanket up, to his chest.
Eventually his body's weight won; his eyes closed, his breath slowed, sleep came.
---
ATLAS
Alice's voice from downstairs.
Atlas opened his eyes. Blinked at the ceiling—white, blank.
"Breakfast," she called.
"Yeah." His voice rough. Unused.
Rubbed his face. Palms dragging down. Sat up slow. The sheets twisted around his legs.
Breathed. Held it. Let it go.
How much longer.
Couldn't finish the thought. Stood. Grabbed the sweatshirt off the chair—pulled it over his head, got his arm stuck for a second in the sleeve.
All this time. Nothing.
Kitchen. Alice at the counter. Sienna by the stove.
"Morning."
"Morning."
He sat. Chair scraped against the floor. Reached for the coffee—black, too hot. Drank it anyway.
Alice watching. Not obvious. Just—there.
"How are you?"
Atlas shrugged. One shoulder. "Fine."
Sienna turned, wooden spoon in hand. Smiled a little. "You need to eat. I can make more. Eggs? Toast?"
He looked at the plate in front of him. Scrambled eggs. Already cold probably.
"This is good. Thanks."
Put some on his fork. Lifted it halfway. Stopped.
Noah burning toast. Laughing about it. Sunny going crazy. The kitchen smelling like coffee and something slightly burnt.
Set the fork down. Picked up his coffee instead.
Alice's fork clinked against her plate. "I'm meeting Mike and Joel today."
Atlas turned his head. "Still nothing?"
"We're dealing with Thomas Wellin." She said it flat. Matter of fact. "He doesn't move without calculating everything first."
Atlas's hand went to his thigh. Fingers pressed into the muscle. Hard.
"He'll go see Noah eventually."
"When."
"Don't know. But he will."
Atlas's thumb dug in deeper. "Helen's been pushing him. Wants to see Noah."
"I'll talk to them. About following Helen too."
He nodded once. Short.
"I have a meeting." Pushed his chair back. "Need to leave."
"Tonight then."
Atlas looked at both of them—Alice, Sienna. Then left.
---
Upstairs. Changed. Tie too tight. Loosened it. Retied it. Same result.
Car. Cold leather. He sat there a second before starting it.
Looked at himself in the rearview. Eyes shadowed. Jaw tight.
"You have to win."
Said it quiet. To himself. To the empty car.
Started driving.
Days without Noah. Weeks? How many now.
Opened the window. December air poured in—sharp, cutting. His eyes watered from the wind.
Mom talking to Helen. At least that's something.
The company. Parking garage. Elevator. His floor.
Meetings. One after another. He sat through them. Spoke when needed. Nodded. Signed things.
Wasn't really there.
Conference room. Glass walls. View of the city.
His phone buzzed on the table.
Richard: Come.
That's it. Nothing else.
Never anything else.
Atlas stared at it. Put the phone in his pocket. Stood.
---
His father's office. Top floor. Corner suite.
Atlas walked—didn't slow down but his breathing changed. Deeper. Controlled.
Knocked twice.
"Come in."
Richard standing. Not at the window. Against the wall—back straight, surveying.
Atlas entered. Richard's head came up. Slight. Minimal.
Gestured toward the seating area. Leather chairs. Low table.
"Sit."
Not a question. Not quite an order either. Something in between.
Atlas sat. Richard moved—slow, deliberate—across from him. When he sat, his spine stayed perfectly aligned.
Silence.
They looked at each other.
Richard's eyes moved over him. Scanning. No anger. No disappointment. Just—assessment.
Finally Richard's head tilted. Barely. "You've been looking tired lately."
Atlas's jaw shifted. Tightened. "Why'd you call me?"
Richard removed his glasses. Set them on the table—precise placement. Folded his hands.
Every movement slow. Calculated.
"I thought we should clarify some things."
Atlas held his gaze. Didn't blink. "Like what."
Richard exhaled through his nose. Short. "The changes in you recently. They've caught my attention." Pause. "Things you haven't told me."
Atlas's eyes narrowed. Fraction of an inch. "Did what you saw satisfy you?"
Richard's face—ice. "Could be better."
Silence dropped between them. Heavy.
Richard picked up his glasses. Turned them in his fingers. Light catching the lenses.
"I know you're still at Alice's."
Atlas's eyes widened. Just for a second. He caught it—jaw tightening, swallowing it down. But his eyebrow had moved. Tiny tell.
"How do you know that."
Richard leaned back. Relaxed. "Not 'how,' Atlas." Pause. "How much."
Atlas's throat worked. He didn't answer.
Richard's voice dropped. Got quieter. Worse. "First that boy..."
No venom. That's what made it dangerous.
"Now Alice."
Atlas's breathing hitched. Imperceptible. His fingers curled against the armrest—once, brief.
"So you know everything."
Richard nodded. Slight dip of his chin. "I always know."
Not a boast. Statement of fact.
Atlas looked away. Down. Then back. "How long."
"From the beginning."
Atlas brought his hand up—rubbed his forehead, thumb pressing between his eyebrows. Hard.
"You had me followed."
Richard stood. Smooth. Unhurried. Straightened his jacket. "I'm protecting you. Same as I protect this family."
Atlas stood too. He had height on his father. Didn't matter. Richard's posture still commanded the room.
Atlas moved toward the window. Few steps. Shoulders back but hands loose at his sides.
"So tell me." His voice even. Controlled. "What bothered you."
Richard put his glasses back on. Slow. Methodical. Each movement a display.
"Sometimes people make choices that could be... misunderstood. On behalf of the family."
Atlas's head tilted. "That the only problem?"
Richard's gaze sharpened. Quick as a blade. Then smoothed. "Atlas. If certain things stay hidden... nobody gets hurt."
Atlas's voice went cold. "And if they don't?"
Richard didn't blink. "Every choice has a price."
No pain flashed across Atlas's face. No shock. Just—recognition.
"Would you lock me up too?" Voice flat. Factual. "Like Noah?"
Richard's mouth curved. Barely. Not a smile. Something else. Dangerous.
"Are you comparing me to Thomas?"
Atlas didn't answer.
The silence was the answer.
Richard adjusted his tie. CEO closing a meeting. "Our family always comes first. Act accordingly."
Pause.
"If there's nothing else... you can leave."
Atlas looked at him. Several seconds. Solid. Unreadable.
Then turned. Walked out. Didn't say another word.
---
Bathroom down the hall. Empty.
Atlas shut the door. Locked it.
Hands on the counter—marble, cold. He pressed down. Knuckles went white.
Looked at himself. Mirror. His eyes weren't red. But something in his face had cracked.
Fuck.
Jaw locked. Breath caught—stuck in his chest. He forced it out. Long. Slow.
Pulled out his phone. Called Charles.
"Anything?"
Voice level. But underneath—barely contained.
Charles said something. Not good enough.
Atlas dropped his head. Closed his eyes. "Keep looking."
Hung up.
Grabbed his jacket. Left.
---
Event. Uptown.
Atlas walked in—posture perfect, face composed.
Don't rush. They can smell desperation.
Smiles. Handshakes. Small talk about nothing.
He played it. All of it. Every role. Nobody saw through it.
When it ended, he got in his car. Sat there.
Cold sinking in through the windows. He looked up. Sky dark. No stars.
"Noah." Said it out loud. "What are you going through right now."
Quiet. Just him and the wind outside.
Christmas. We were supposed to—
His face when I said yes. That smile.
Something tightened in his chest. His hand went to his collar—pulled at it like it was choking him.
Richard's voice. Thomas's face.
Don't give them anything.
His shoulders straightened. Face flushed from cold. But his jaw set.
Started the car.
---
Alice's house. She was in the living room when he walked in.
Looked at him. Didn't say anything. The look said enough: You okay?
"Change. Then come talk."
Atlas went upstairs. Loosened his tie—pulled it off, threw it on the bed. Sat down. Rubbed his face.
Breath still tight.
Eventually got up. Went to Alice's study.
---
"Progress?" He didn't sit. Stood by the door.
Alice held up a file. Didn't hand it over. "Another address. Not confirmed yet."
Atlas nodded. Once. "Keep going."
Moved to the bar cart. Poured whiskey. Two fingers. Turned back. "I saw my father."
Alice's expression shifted. Subtle. Calculating. "What'd he say."
Atlas stared into the glass. "Same as always. Nothing directly." Looked up. "But he made it clear. He knows."
Alice nodded slow. "Richard doesn't gather intel, Atlas. He already has it. Just waits for the right moment."
Atlas's free hand curled into a fist. Released. "Doesn't even have to ask. Noah. Me staying here. All of it."
Alice leaned forward. Elbows on her knees. "Then the question isn't what he knows. It's when he'll use it."
Atlas's voice dropped. "Today's message was clear enough."
His shoulders tensed. Small movement. But the weight in his voice—crushing.
Alice caught it. "Atlas." Serious. No softening. "Him knowing everything can't stop you. But it can weaken you. That's what he wants."
Atlas closed his eyes. Brief. Opened them. "He's not getting it."
"Good. Because that's all he wants right now."
Atlas set the glass down. Hard. "We keep going. Find Noah. But not on Richard's terms."
Alice nodded. "That's why we're careful. You don't fight Richard head-on. You outmaneuver him."
Atlas looked at nothing. Then: "I know."
They talked. Plans. Angles. Nothing concrete. But direction clear.
Atlas stood. "Night."
Left.
---
The moment the door closed, his shoulders sagged.
Nobody watching.
His room. The jacket felt like it weighed fifty pounds. He shrugged it off. Let it fall.
Lay down. Clothes still on. Stared at the ceiling.
Tried thinking. Couldn't.
Brain just—tired.
Eyes heavy.
Sleep came. Not rest. Just exhaustion winning.