Atlas
Talia’s messages were starting to piss me off.
Folded notes slipped under my door like she thought she was clever, scrawled handwriting begging me to come, meet me, you have to, or else. Each one bled with desperation. And with each one, my patience thinned.
She really thought she could hold something over me?
I crumpled the latest note in my hand, grinding it into a tight ball. I felt the threat from the page even after I crushed it: If you don’t come, Atlas, I’ll tell them the truth.
The truth.
My lips curved into a humorless smile. Let her.
But still—I went. Not because of her threats, but because her whining had become like a buzzing mosquito, and sometimes the only way to silence a mosquito was to crush it between your hands.
The hallways were empty, eerily quiet under t
