The Atlas Six (The Atlas, #1)(101)

It seemed the incident between Callum and Parisa had split the remainder of them into factions—people who were bothered by death and people who weren’t—and Tristan was the meridian.

Maybe they should just be rid of Tristan.

Parisa turned to her with one brow arched. (Reina had been careless; settling perhaps a bit too clumsily on the idea.)

Don’t pretend you’ve ever really had a friend, thought Reina in silent reply. You’d turn on him in a moment if it suited you.

Parisa’s lips twitched up, half-smiling. She gave a small shrug, neither confirmation nor denial, then returned her attention to Dalton, who was just beginning to discuss curses on forms of consciousness when the door opened behind him, revealing the rare appearance of Atlas in the frame.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” said Atlas, though of course he had interrupted, unquestionably. He was dressed in a full suit as always, though he appeared to have come from somewhere; perhaps a meeting. Having never held the position of Caretaker in an elite secret society, Reina was unsure of his daily activities. She watched him remove the hook of his umbrella from his arm and set it beside the door, leaning it on the frame.

At one point, this had been normal. When they first began their work, Atlas had been present nearly every morning, but, like Dalton, he had taken several steps back once they’d grown comfortable with the Society’s work. His appearance now shifted the chemistry in the room, noticeably altering its atmosphere.

Dalton nodded in acknowledgement, opening his mouth to continue his list of suggested reading, but before he could, Libby had tentatively raised a hand in the air.

“Sorry, sir,” she said, turning to Atlas, “but since you’re here, I wondered if we were going to discuss the details of initiation at any point.”

The rest of the room froze.

Dalton, Reina observed, had fallen robotically still, instantly short-circuiting. Nico was mortified, but a very specific kind of mortification: the particular dismay of having forgotten to do something important, like having left the house with the oven on. Tristan’s gaze was fixed straight ahead as if he had not heard the question (impossible) and Callum was fighting laughter, as if he hoped to replay the moment endlessly until he’d wrung all the amusement out of it that he possibly could.

Parisa was the least startled. Presumably she had known what Libby was going to ask before she had said anything aloud, given the mind-reading, but surely there was no doubt for anyone in the room that whatever secrets the others were carrying, Parisa held them, too.

Only Libby was patently empty-handed.

“We’ve all been here nearly a year,” Libby pointed out. “And by now we’ve all received visits from members of other organizations, haven’t we?”

No one spoke in confirmation, but that didn’t appear to deter her in the slightest.

“So, it just seems as if we should have been told by now what comes next,” Libby concluded warily, glancing around. “Is there going to be some sort of exam, or—?”

“Forgive my brevity,” said Atlas. “As a group, you are to have selected a member for elimination by the end of the month. As for the details, it’s a bit early to discuss them.”

“Is it?” asked Libby, frowning. “Because it seems as if—”

“The Society has done things a very particular way for a reason,” said Atlas. “This may not seem clear right now, but I cannot permit expediency to outweigh the importance of our methodology. Logistical efficiency is only one among many concerns, I’m afraid.”

It was clear that Libby wasn’t going to receive any further answers; even more obvious was her discontent with the prospect of continued ignorance.

“Oh.” She folded her arms over her chest, turning back to Dalton. “Sorry.”

Dalton went on, returning half-heartedly to his lecture, and for the rest of the afternoon, nothing was noticeably out of place.

As far as Reina was concerned, however, something monumental had been achieved that afternoon. She was certain now that only Libby remained in the dark, which meant that if the rest of them were aware of the terms for initiation and they still hadn’t left, then they must have all secretly come to the same conclusion Reina had.

They were each willing to kill whoever they had to in order to stay. Five out of six arrows were not only sharp, they were lethal, and now they were readily aimed.

Briefly, Reina felt the tug of a smile across her face: Intention.

MotherMotherMother is aliveeeeee!





TRISTAN



“MAYBE WE SHOULD KILL RHODES,” remarked Callum over breakfast.

At which point Tristan stopped chewing, swallowing thickly around his toast.

Callum slid a glance to him, half-shrugging. “It just seems practical,” he said. “She and Varona are a pair, aren’t they? Why keep both?”

Tristan’s response was slow. “Then why not suggest killing Nico?”

“We could, I suppose.” Callum reached for his coffee, taking a sip. “I could be convinced.”

He replaced the cup on the table, glancing at Tristan’s waylaid toast. “Everything alright?”

Tristan grimaced. “We’re discussing which among us to murder, Callum. I don’t think I’m expected to go on eating.”

“Aren’t you? You’re still here,” Callum observed. “I imagine that means you’re expected to go on doing everything precisely as you normally would.”