Page 22 of Atlas and the Traitor

“And all is right with the world,” Robin lilted, the put-on tone full of sarcasm, as he flopped onto one of the chaises under the overlook’s pergola.

All was certainly not right with the world, but Atlas did feel a measure more like himself out of the suits. Reflected in his magic too, the orbs he was lobbing over the vineyards as green as the grape leaves would turn come spring, assuming they won the battle ahead.

Robin stretched his big body out on the chaise, hands pillowed behind his head, eyes closed, leaving Atlas to finish his work, his heartbeat slowing and breaths evening out such that Atlas thought he’d fallen asleep, but as soon as he lowered his arms, the inquisition he’d expected began.

“What does Mary really want?” the coyote asked.

Not the question he expected, but not a surprise either. As far as Robin knew, he was a bystander to this war, a victim who’d lost a loved one, who was trying to save his other friends and family from meeting the same fate. Who was after something far simpler—revenge. Perhaps he was starting to realize his goals and those of the person pulling the strings might not align as he’d understood.

Possibly not as Atlas understood either. “You’re the one who’s traveled with her the past month.”

“You’re the one who’s been in the shit the past however many years,” Robin replied, as Atlas lowered onto the chaise across from him. “How long’s it actually been?”

“I can’t even remember at this point.”

“Were you always on Nature’s side?”

He stared up through the pergola’s slats at the night sky that was just beginning to lighten, from black to bruised, like he’d been when he’d lost his way. “No.”

He expected Robin to want to know all about it, to prove which side he was on now, but the shifter surprised him again, skipping over both those questions to a more painful one. “What brought you back?”

“Who,” he corrected, voice a cracked whisper, the truth dismally ironic after the events of yesterday. He rubbed at the center of his chest, trying and failing to make the ache go away. “Daphne.”

“I’m sorry you lost her.”

The surprising sincerity prompted the same from Atlas. “I’m sorry you lost your sister.”

The silence that lingered was a heavy blanket of commiseration, comfortable in its familiarity, awkward to be trapped in it with Robin of all people. While fate had put them on the same side time and again—hell, from the beginning—they’d rarely put themselves there.

“This is weird,” Robin said, as if reading his thoughts.

Atlas chuckled. “Don’t worry, I still don’t like you.”

“I don’t like you either.”

“And no one here likes either of us,” Atlas said, recalling the debrief from earlier, Robin relegated to a corner while Atlas tiptoed around folks who wanted to kill him on the regular.

Robin smirked at the sky. “Noticed that, huh?”

“If they’re dumb enough to think she didn’t decide who went where, then I shouldn’t have given them those assignments.”

He didn’t argue the point. “Mac may never forgive me.”

“Even though Paris has?”

“Not good enough. And Adam, well...” He raked a hand over his face, but not before Atlas glimpsed the tightening around the corners of his eyes and mouth. “I should have been there that day.”

Atlas didn’t have to ask what day. He idly wondered what Robin would do if he ever learned the full truth about the day his sister died.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Robin said, drawing him back to the present. “What’s Mary after? What’s the endgame this go-round?”

“I don’t know,” Atlas lied, then told a partial truth. “Pax is ultimately the answer, but he’s too young to do anything about it right now.”

Robin wasn’t letting him get away with it, shifting on the chaise so he was upright and angled toward him, forearms braced on his knees. “So what doyouplan to do about it?”

“Make sure Chaos stays trapped on the other side of the veil until Pax is ready.” Or trapped somewhere on this side, which was a far more excruciating, far more likely outcome.

“We have to stop Evan.”

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