The Atlas Six (The Atlas, #1)(30)

“Except maybe Reina,” Libby said, glancing apprehensively over her shoulder. “I can’t quite get a read on her, though.”

“Whether she is or she isn’t, it doesn’t matter. Rhodes, we’re already at a disadvantage,” he pointed out. “There’s two of us and one each of them. If anyone’s going to get eliminated, one of us is the natural choice.”

She chewed her lip. “So what are you suggesting?”

“That we work together.” Unheard of for them, considering their mutual enmity, but he hoped she wouldn’t take too firm a hand with that particularly dead horse. “We can do more that way, anyway.” Astounding that it had taken graduating from NYUMA for them to believe their professors, who had insisted as much for years. “We just can’t give the others a reason to think either of us is expendable, that’s all.”

“If anyone’s going to try and make me look expendable, it’s you,” she pointed out, and Nico sighed.

“Don’t be petulant. I’m trying to be mature.” Or something. “At the very least, I’m being pragmatic.”

She considered it. “But what if an alliance with you isn’t in my best interest? I mean, if you do prove to be useless—”

“I am not and have never been useless,” Nico sniffed, “but fine. We’ll be a team so long as it’s in both our best interests, how’s that?”

“And what will we do when it isn’t?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Libby hummed in thought again, half-sighing.

“I suppose they are a bunch of snobs,” she muttered, and added, “And I do sort of already hate Callum.”

“Try not to,” Nico advised. “Empaths can do a lot with strong emotions.”

“Don’t mansplain empaths to me.” A predictable response, but he could see her starting to concede. “It just seems so ridiculous that we can’t all work together,” Libby muttered, half to herself. “I mean, what is the point of having so much talent in the room if nobody’s willing to see where that takes us?”

Nico shrugged. “Maybe they’ll get over it.”

“Ah yes, because that so frequently happens,” Libby grumbled, toying in agitation with her bangs.

She was definitely on the edge of agreement. Nico waited, prompting her to get on with her internal calculations, and she rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” she conceded grumpily—which Nico reminded himself was not annoying, because it was what he’d wanted and, furthermore, it proved him right. “We’re allies until we’re not, then. Which I assume will be any moment.”

“Love the enthusiasm, Rhodes,” said Nico, and she grunted something derogatory in response, the two of them finally arriving in the dining room.

Alliances aside, Nico was feeling quite confident, though he could see Libby was having the opposite reaction. Yes, she had been targeted outright by Callum (a predictable breed of asshole if Nico had ever seen one) and she was much too fragile to contend with Reina’s lofty disinterest in her, but that was only because it was in Libby’s personal moral code to fret pointlessly about things she couldn’t control.

Once she had the opportunity to prove herself, she wouldn’t be nearly so mouseish; that much Nico knew from experience. Elizabeth Rhodes was a lot of things, most of them unhelpful, but restrained when it came to her abilities was not even remotely one of them. For once, the chip on Libby’s shoulder would probably serve him well.

The sooner she had a chance to be tested, the better, Nico thought grimly, observing over dinner that Callum, Tristan, and Parisa were obviously deluding themselves into thinking that being secretive and more experienced made them into some sort of exclusive club. He almost regretted finding Parisa so attractive, though it was hardly the first time he’d taken a liking to a girl whose primary quality was her inability to be impressed.

Thankfully, dinner was brief. Tomorrow, Dalton informed them at the end of their meal, would be their first full day. Tonight, they would merely be taken to their rooms to get some rest.

Dalton led them back to the long corridor past the gallery, where each of their names were carved into small placards beside the doors.

“It’s like boarding school all over again,” murmured Callum to Parisa, though of course none of the others could relate. Nico could, given that he’d been sent to New England from Havana the moment his medeian status had been cemented, but he, at least, was conscious enough of his wealth not to point to it. NYUMA had been populated with plenty of students like Libby or Gideon who had gone through mortal schooling most of their lives; coming from magical money, as both Nico and Max had done, wasn’t something to boast about unless one wanted to be immediately mistrusted and disliked. For someone who could apparently feel the emotions of others, Callum seemed dreadfully out of touch.

“Speak for yourself,” muttered Parisa back to Callum, proving Nico correct, though Callum merely smirked at her.

“You’re all adults,” Dalton said, catching wind of their muted conversation, “so there are no rules. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“No rules?” Tristan echoed, glancing at Libby as if he expected her to faint at the news, which was certainly an accurate assessment of her character. She had always had a bit of a look to her as if she might immediately report any wrongdoing; that she was currently dressed like a page from the spring catalogue for school prefects (square-neck cardigan, pleated skirt, ballet flats) certainly didn’t help.