The Atlas Six (The Atlas, #1)(39)

“Possible.” Libby’s lips were thin. “Statistically, that is,” she added, inclining her head towards Atlas in something Tristan disgustingly guessed to be deference, “it was possible.”

“Many things are possible,” Atlas agreed. “But then, I never claimed your safety was a guarantee. In fact, I was quite clear that you would be required to have some knowledge of combat and security.”

Nobody spoke; they were waiting, Tristan expected, to be less annoyed about the fact that while they had never specifically signed anything saying they preferred not to be shot at in the middle of the night, some principles of preference remained.

“It is the Society’s practice to ‘leak’ the date of the new members’ arrival,” Atlas continued in their silence. “Some attempts at entry are expected, but it was never for us to know who or what those attacks would be.”

“The majority of the attempts were deflected by preexisting enchantments,” Dalton added, surprising them with his presence. “The installation allows us to see the ways our enemies may have evolved.”

“Installation,” Nico echoed. “What is that, like a game?”

He seemed delighted about having been invited to participate.

“Merely common practice,” said Atlas. “We like to see how well our potential initiates work together.”

“So, in short, a test,” said Callum, sounding none too pleased about it.

“A tradition,” Atlas corrected, with another steady smile. “And you all did quite well, truth be told, though I hope having seen each other in action allows you to put together a more thorough defense system. Collaboration is very important for the sort of work we do here.” He turned to Dalton, arching a brow. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Ellery?”

“As I said, every class of initiates consists of a unique composite of specialties,” Dalton supplied neutrally, addressing them as a group. “You were selected for a team as much as you were chosen as individual members. It is the Society’s hope that, moving forward, you will act accordingly.”

“Yes, quite,” Atlas concluded, returning his attention to the group of them. “There will of course be some relevant details to see to as far as any structural or magical damage, but seeing as the house has now been emptied and the wards have resumed their usual work, I would invite you to get some rest and revisit the house’s security in the morning. Good night,” he offered crisply, nodding to them as a group, and then turned on his heel, followed by Dalton.

Parisa, Tristan noted, watched Dalton go with intense and possibly excessive interest, frowning slightly in his wake. Tristan waited for the others to move—first Reina, who headed to bed without a word, and then Callum, who rolled his eyes, followed by Nico and Libby, who immediately started arguing in hushed tones—before he approached Parisa, sidling up to her as she turned away in troubled thought.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Her gaze flicked up to Callum, who was a few strides ahead of them.

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Only in that Callum looked perfectly unchanged.

“What happened?” Tristan asked again.

“Nothing,” Parisa repeated. “It was just…” She trailed off, and then cleared her throat. “It was nothing.”

“Ah yes, nothing,” Tristan said drily. “Right.”

They reached their rooms, lingering at the start of the corridor as the others filed off to bed. Nico barked something disapproving at Libby—something about “Fowler will fucking live for fuck’s sake”—and then only Tristan and Parisa remained in the hall.

He paused beside her door, hesitating as she opened it.

“I was thinking,” he said, clearing his throat. “If you wanted to—”

“I don’t at the moment,” she said. “Last night was fun, but I don’t really think we should make it a regular thing, do you?”

He bristled. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure it was,” said Parisa. “You’ve just had a near-death experience and now you want to stick your prick in something until you feel better.” Tristan, who was much too English for this conversation, rather resented her choice of words, though she cut him off before he could express his demurral aloud. “It’s evolutionary,” she assured him. “When you come close to death, the body’s natural impulse is procreation.”

“I wasn’t that close to death,” Tristan muttered.

“No? Well, lucky you.” Parisa’s expression hardened, her eyes darting to Callum’s bedroom door.

Not that Tristan had doubted it before, but ‘nothing’ had most definitely been ‘something.’

“I thought you liked him,” Tristan commented, and Parisa bristled.

“Who says I don’t?”

“I’m just saying—”

“I don’t know him.”

Tristan contemplated the value of asking a third time.

“Something clearly happened,” he allowed instead. “You don’t have to tell me what it was, I just—”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” She gave him a defensive glance. “How was little miss sunshine?”