No one spoke. But it didn't matter. Their stares were weapons. Claire's was colder—judgment and disappointment worn like perfume. Lara's? Something worse.
Jealousy.
It hung in the air, faint but unmistakable. Like the scent of overripe roses—it *clung*.
Gods, he hoped it wasn't about Eli.
He took one more step forward.
Claire's voice cut the air like a thread snapping.
"You went alone...."
Atlas raised an eyebrow. "Would you have stopped me?"
"...I tried but you went anyway...: she replied.
Lara scoffed. "You didn't even ask."
His mouth twitched. "You weren't supposed to follow."
Claire stepped forward. "And what if you....."
He stopped. Silence again. The tension pulled taut.
Atlas looked at them—really looked. The way Lara's fingers curled slightly against her hip. The way Claire's breathing faltered at the top of her ribcage. They had waited. For hours. Maybe longer.
That mattered more than they wanted to admit.
