Xolia and Atlas got out of the car, which remained running with the mysterious driver hiding behind the wheel. The car pulled away, just up the block, leaving them even more alone. This would be her chance. Anticipation bubbled up inside her, and her blood rushed through her body. She clenched her hand into a fist?—
“Xolia,” Atlas said. “I really brought you to come here because I need to ask you something.”
“Yes?” She teetered on the edge of her patience.
“You need to step aside from the VC nomination,” he said, his mask firmly in place.
Xolia blinked. “I don’t understand. You wouldn’t be getting it even if I declined.” Her brain couldn’t make a single clear thought.
“I know.” His voice had a hard edge to it. “That’s not why I’m asking. I’m trying to do what’s best for Ris, and you’re a loose cannon.”
“I’m doing what’s best for Ris too.” Her fist was still clenched, and Atlas took a step toward her. It would be so easy to hit him. Quickly, he reached out and yanked her arm. Xolia startled but didn’t fight back as he dragged her past the temporary fencing around the museum and led her into the grounds.
“I’ve been working too hard for the past seven years for you to mess things up. Just listen to me, I’m doing what is best for variants,” he said. They didn’t stop until he opened a side door that had been left unlocked. That felt like an important detail. Xolia promised herself she would remember it.
Lights flickered on to reveal a warehouse, boxes stacked in precarious towers. They were all marked though the writing was too small to parse out any details. Not that Xolia was much up to reading at the moment anyway.
“Just tell me you’ll back off,” he pleaded with her. Xolia struggled to remain standing upright. “I thought you were happy with Marshall and your little bureau job.”
At the mention of Marshall’s name, Xolia laughed. “Happy? I haven’t been happy in a long time, Atlas.” How easily the words tumbled out of her mouth once she was no longer inhibited by herself. How easy it was to let the truth come out. “And why should I listen to you? You tried to kill me.”
His jaw twitched. “Because I was afraid this would happen.” At his sides, his hands shook.
She narrowed her eyes. “Why can’t you let me have anything? You had to be Silas’s favorite. Peter’s favorite.”
“I was never Silas’s favorite because I wanted to be,” Atlas snapped. “He just didn’t like you.”
Consciousness flickered in and out. When Xolia found some lucidity, Atlas was pacing back and forth. “That’s not true. He told me I had a great role to play when the war was over. Something only I could do.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. She was too conversational.
“And you believed it?” Atlas stopped his pacing. “You still believe it?”
She shook her head because it was supposed to be a lie. Krista had told her it was a lie, a manipulation tactic. But I am special. I want to be meant for more.
“You’re not drunk,” she realized aloud.
He barked out a laugh. “Of course not. Then, I wouldn’t have the advantage.”
The sleepy tune fizzled out. She wanted her opening. She’d been stupid and let Atlas get the better of her again, and now he thought he could wheedle something else from her. No more. With a clenched fist, she threw a punch against the square of his jaw.
The contact made a resounding and satisfying crack. He stumbled back and adrenaline coursed through Xolia. She was ready. This was it.
Atlas cradled his jaw, but when he looked up at her, his eyes flashed with pure hatred. It sparked Xolia’s own animosity. She went to throw another punch, but Atlas was quick to grab her fist.
“You’re stupid,” he snapped. A gust of wind blew into her midsection, throwing her back. “You’ve never been able to beat me, and now you think you can when you’re drunk off your ass?”
Xolia sought that connection to water. It was all too far away. Hidden behind drywall and copper pipes. She didn’t have the concentration to pull it out.
Blood, then. Hers. His.
Why can’t I focus?
Stymied, she backed up another few feet from him. A triumphant smile broke out over his face, the discoloration of his jaw already receding. “Having trouble?”
“I used my powers, though,” she said, voice small. She was afraid and couldn’t hide it.
“Before you were drunk,” he said, glee evident in his voice. He stalked toward her. “You couldn’t put out a candle right now.”
Fear shot through her brain. She pulled at a stack of boxes and tried to move them in front of her. Anything to shield her.